Forbidden Magic (18 page)

Suddenly Conan reared, and in the next instant the road before them filled with menacing shapes of men and horses numbering twice as many as those seeking to pass. Every muscle in Jewel's slender frame tightened once she saw the band of strangers, for she knew them not to be friends, but raiders, thieves who held no single life more important than their own. She could feel their eyes upon her and a cold fear gripped her soul, for if Amery and Gunther fell victims of the battle, she would be the prize, helpless to stop any of them from having their way with her or killing her out of sheer, demented sport. Her heart thundered in her ears and her thin frame shivered, for she doubted any knight could reign victorious when so greatly outnumbered. She tightened her hold on the reins, ready to jerk the mare around and race off the moment they advanced. Bat to her surprise Amery and his companion were the first to charge, the huge swords they held gleaming in the moonlight.

The earth trembled beneath the pounding of hooves as the mighty destriers raced toward the thieves and the six sought to flee as the threatening figures narrowed the distance between them. Two swung their horses toward the thick grove of trees lining both sides of the road and disappeared into the darkness. The four that remained readied their weapons, certain the odds played them favorites. But when the knights reached them, the clashing of steel rang only a moment before the screams of the wounded and dying filled the air and the bandits fell to the ground.

Jewel viewed the scene m horror. She had lived the life of a pampered daughter to a great lord, one who protected his family from the cruelty of war, and she had only imagined the flurry of such a contest in the safety of her chambers. To be a witness brought a sickening knot to her stomach and she yanked the mare's reins to one side, placing the bloodied lane at her back, certain she would retch at any moment. She swallowed hard, her eyes squeezed tightly closed, and when she opened them again, a scream lodged in her throat, for it seemed that the two thieves who had fled had appeared from nowhere and one was seizing the reins of her horse as the other lingered behind in false hope of staying the warriors who had killed his companions. Frantic, Jewel kicked out at the one who held the reins, nearly tumbling herself from her mount and scaring the mare. Letting out a panicked whinny, the beast spun its hindquarters about, tugging at the restraint, and collided with the second bandit's horse. He, in turn, was knocked to the ground and his steed sent bolting off down the road. Scrambling to his feet in a rush, for he had seen the two knights raise their swords and spur their destriers on to launch their attack, he raced to hit companion, grabbed the outstretched hand, and swung himself up in back of the man, viciously kicking the animal's sides to send them thundering off down the road, leaving Jewel behind.

Confused and frightened, Jewel's mare reared, spun around, and raced after the men who sought to escape, her reins having been jerked from Jewel's hands. Free of all restriction, she galloped full speed, unmindful of the desperate cries of her rider or the slight weight that she carried. And the pounding Of hooves behind her as the destriers advanced only urged her on... blindly, wildly. Then suddenly, her rider was lifted from her back.

Jewel clung frantically to the strong arm encircling her, her eyes shut and tears streaming down her face. And once Amery carefully positioned her in the saddle before him, she wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him to her, until she heard the deep laughter rumble in his chest. She released her hold immediately and cast her attention on the road ahead of them, watching Gunther and the other men quickly disappear into the darkness, the mare racing alongside them.

Amery hauled back orn Conan's reins to bring the huge beast to a halt. Several moments of silence passed between them and although Jewel concentrated on the path that seemed to fade into the ebony curtain of night, she was startlingly aware of the green eyes studying her.

" 'Tis true what they say about you, Sir Amery," she half whispered bitterly, wondering if her voice shook as badly as her hands.

"And what is that, Lady Jewel?" he questioned, his mirth still present in his tone.

"That you have no compassion for women." She remained quiet, waiting for the admission she was sure would come, but when the quiet seemed to ring in her ears, she twisted to look at him, seeing the vague smile on his handsome face.

"And if that were true, little one, then tell me why you're perched on my saddle? Had I no compassion, I could have let the mare throw you and saved myself the trouble of running you down."

Before he could stop her, Jewel wiggled free and slid to the ground. "Then save your compassion, if that is what you call it," she snapped, glaring up at him. "I will take my chances on the road and return to Harcourt." Lifting the skirts of her gunna, she spun around and started down the path.

Her steps were sure and quick and never faltered as she lengthened the distance between them, her eyes trained on the gray and black shadows crossing the lane. A crisp breeze lifted the hem of her garments, sending, a shiver up her spine, and Jewel suddenly knew the foolishness of her venture. Harcourt lay many miles further on and the warmth of the morning sun would not grace the land for several hours. Her fingers and toes were already growing numb, and she realized that without the heat of the mare's body next to her, only a short while would pass before her arms and legs would become too stiff to move. Her pace slowed slightly. And the thieves they had encountered along the trail were not the only raiders who roamed about the land at night. Her fate would be assured if she met another band on foot and alone. Hesitating slightly, she glanced down at the path her feet had taken, then stopped in the middle of the road, listening, No sounds came from behind her, which injured her pride, for she knew Amery had not urged his steed to follow, but instead had allowed her to make her own discoveries about traveling the countryside on a cold winter night. Well, perhaps he was right in this case, but he would not have the satisfaction of seeing her hang her head in shame. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her nose in the air, vowing to find another time when she could leave him without worry for her safety, and she turned back to face him, her humiliation heightening when she noticed how casually he sat watching her.

Amery had not been affected by the vixen's spiteful decision to walk home, for he knew Gunther would return before she had gotten very far, and a stroll in the crisp, chilling breeze would quickly change her mind. He had returned his sword to its sheath, then leaned forward on the pommel, arms crossed to brace himself, and appraised the agitated sway of skirts as the young beauty jerked them from side to side with each step she took. He had met many a fair damsel in his time, but none as bewitching as she, and never one who preferred her solitude to sharing his company. He found the idea amusing, for whether she wanted it that way or not, he would not let her go until she no longer interested him. His tawny brows came together in an angry frown. Nor would he release her simply because Radolf wanted her.

His musings were intruded upon when the pounding of hooves against the hard earth filled the quiet. Cautiously he lifted his gaze past the young woman to the road behind her, his hand moving slowly to the hilt of his sword, and he spied Gunther's tall frame astride his horse as he galloped toward them.

"Lady Jewel?" Gunther questioned, reining his steed to a halt when he reached her. "Art thou safe?"

Jewel longed to beg his aid in taking her home, protecting her from his companion, and bringing an end to her nightmare, but she knew the effort would be useless. Dropping her gaze away from him, she pulled the fox-lined mantle snugly around her and replied, "Yea, Sir Gunther, no harm has befallen me except to my pride."

Gunther shifted in the saddle and extended his hand. "Then honor me by sharing our journey and the warmth of my destrier, for I fear the mare has evaded me."

Jewel smiled up at him appreciatively, about to respond and accept his kindness, when Amery called out.

"Nay, Gunther. Lady Jewel will ride with me," he said sternly. "And since her foolishness has found her where she is, she will admit to it and set her feet on the path that brings her to my side."

Gunther frowned, straightening in the saddle, and would have argued the point had he not caught the warning glare of his friend. Instead, he sighed disgustedly and settled back, forced to be content with the knowledge that if nothing else, Amery would never hurt more than her pride. His eyes narrowed slightly as he glowered at his companion, then settled his gaze on the young beauty standing near him, his anger fading when he saw her smile.

"Yea, Sir Gunther, 'tis my foolishness that has found me thus, and foolishness that has brought about my family's death. Friendship has little meaning when greater goals are sought." She glanced back at Amery. "But hear my words, gallant knight, for of us all, this man's greed will be his downfall." With a proud lift of her chin and before Gunther could reply, Jewel walked the distance that placed her next to Amery and paused,'smiling up at him sardonically.

"Greed is in truth a devilish creature, little one," Amery replied softly, returning her smile. "One that if cunningly used, can make even the evilest of men appear the saint."

"Thou art far from sainthood, Amery of Wellington," Jewel hissed, his meaning lost to her.

Amery chuckled. "And no doubt you will be most eager to spread the tale." He grinned, one hand holding onto the pommel while he bent low to envelop her delicate frame in one arm and lift her to a place in front of him. "But then, 'twas never my intent to win the praise of anyone."

"Except your king," she dared to correct, feeling the warmth of his body next to hers quickly chase away the chill. She wanted to snuggle closer and enjoy the comfort of his protection but stubbornly refused, sitting stiffly in his arms.

"'Tis not praise I seek, little one," he murmured, turning his mount and touching his heels to its sides. After he had nodded Gunther on, they resumed their journey, each remaining silent with his own thoughts.

T
he bright morning sun rose languidly in the crystal clearness of the blue sky, warming the earth and all it touched, and masking the tragedy that had befallen Harcourt Castle as all evidence had been cleared, the dead buried. In the great hall, peasant men hurriedly moved about repairing the huge oak door that had been torn from its hinges by the invaders while the women brought food and wine to break the fasts of their visitors. To look upon the place, all seemed well and as it should be, save for the quiet that reigned over the people, for none spoke as they worked, the grief they suffered showing clearly in their eyes.

From his corner of the room, Kennard halfheartedly watched the activity of the serfs, his thoughts elsewhere. Radolf had insisted they stay the night, that Harcourt was vulnerable to any lord who wanted to increase his lands by the mere taking of the castle, and that he would not leave Lady Jewel until she agreed to come with him. But Kennard disliked being at Harcourt. Although he could not name it, something bothered him as persistently as a splinter of wood in the palm of his hand. The night past he had experienced a chill that had shaken his entire being—and not once, but twice—a sensation he knew was not born of the winter air. Danger lurked about them, a silent promise that those who had practiced evil would be called upon to redeem themselves. He raised the wineskin to his lips and took a long drink. It was not that he was a coward— far from it. He had bravely faced the enemy in battle and had slain a good number of knights. But what they had done here had been done cravenly, and he felt certain no amount of time would ever erase it from his mind.

"Good morningtide, Kennard," a cheerful voice called out to him.

Straightening in his chair, the knight twisted to watch his cousin descend the stairs, cross to one of the tables filled with food, and lift a jelly tart from a tray. "Good morningtide, Radolf," he murmured, settling back again to concentrate on the fire crackling in the huge hearth next to him.

"Was thy bed lumpy, dear cousin?" Radolf chided with a half smile when he noticed the irritable frown kinking the man's brow. "Thou seemest in ill spirits."

Kennard raised the wineskin to his lips and took a swallow. "Nay. Twas soft and I slept well. Tis the light of day that disturbs me."

Radolf considered his friend a moment while he sampled the tart, then drew up a chair to sit next to him. "Perchance if you ate—"

"'Tis not food that will ease the aching in my stomach!" Kennard snapped before taking a hearty swig of the wine.

"And what will, cousin? A damsel in thy bed?" His gaze quickly took in the peasant women sharing the hall. "There are many from which to choose."

Angry brown eyes glared at him. "Must thou always think of women?" Kennard stormed. '"Twill be your downfall." He stared at the flames again.

Unaffected by Kennard's strange mood, Radolf chuckled lightly. "Mayhap thy bed was soft, cousin, but thy temper has a sharp edge." He leaned back in the chair, crossed an ankle to his knee, and stuffed the rest of the tart in his mouth, mumbling out of one corner, "Wouldst thou care to tell me what troubles you this morn?"

Kennard sighed heavily, his anger easing a degree. "Tis what troubles me. I know not the cause."

Laughing, Radolf reached for the wineskin Kennard held. "Perhaps we should send for the healer. You declare a rest well taken, curse the thought of a woman beneath you, and seek to drown your troubles in wine when you cannot even name them." He raised the skin high and let the burgundy fluid trickle freely until he had had his fill.

"Tis difficult to recite, cousin. 'Twas all I meant," Kennard snapped, heaving his large frame from the chair. Crossing to the fireplace, he rested one arm along its stone edge and studied the orange and yellow light flickering against the floor.

Radolf observed his cousin in silence, knowing that of all the knights who had vowed their allegiance, only Kennard could be called a trusted friend. He enjoyed the man's many moods and the sport of badgering him into doing anything Radolf wanted. Though Kennard stood nearly a full head taller than himself, Radolf often mentally compared his cousin to a small child, eager to do whatever pleased Radolf. With the exception of his mother, Lady Edlyn, Radolf had never sought the approval of anyone for the things he did until Kennard had come to live at Wellington. And now that Radolf was a man, he no longer cared what his mother thought. But Kennard's devotion meant a great deal. Although he teased him, Radolf was truly concerned about the problem that plagued his cousin's mind, and if there were some way he could ease Kennard's distress, he would. Perhaps Kennard did not know what caused his unrest, but Radolf suspected.

"Tis Amery," he said softly, and waited for his cousin to look up at him. Kennard frowned.

"Tell me nay if you can, cousin, but would the laughter not shine again in your eyes if you knew my half brother were dead and posed no threat to us?"

Kennard shrugged with his sigh. "Mayhap," he said. "And 'twould explain the feeling I had this night past while talking to the priests."

Puzzled, Radolf cocked his head to one side, waiting.

"I cannot name it, but it set my flesh tingling," he confided, holding his voice to a whisper when two serfs ventured near. He paused only long enough in his storytelling to frown angrily at them for the interruption they had caused and dismiss them with an agitated jerk of his head to seek other duties that would take them elsewhere. Once they had gone, he left his place by the hearth, eager now to narrate it all, and returned to the chair next to Radolf. "Mayhap it was guilt for the evil in which we indulged, but standing near the monks placed doubt in my mind."

"Doubt?" Radolf echoed, curious.

"Yea. That we gave too little forethought to your half brother," he replied fervently.

Relaxing back in the chair, Radolf gave his friend an incredulous look. "You talk in riddles, Kennard. Summer graced this land when first we spoke of the plan."

"Yea, the plan," Kennard answered excitedly. "But we plotted only one side."

Confused, Radolf waved him off, resting his brow in one hand. "The wine has brought cobwebs to your thoughts. You make no sense."

"Then I will explain," Kennard said firmly, slipping to the edge of his chair where he could face his cousin without threat of being overheard. "We talked at great length about how to succeed, but never once did we give thought to Amery. Think on it, Radolf. If you were the one who returned from the Crusade to find your birthright had been stolen, your betrothed set against you, and a price put on your head for the slaughter of a wealthy lord and his family, what would you do? Be content to let everyone believe the lie?"

Radolf's handsome face hardened with his frown. "Nay, I would not," he said quietly.

"Nor will your half brother. He will search until he learns the names of those responsible. He will come, Radolf, when our backs are turned and we least expect it."

"You mentioned the priests. Why?"

Kennard collapsed back in the chair with a shake of his head. "Twas something one of them said."

"And what, pray tell, was that?"

"He said that things were not always as they seemed."

"And why should that disturb you?"

Kennard studied the flames again, quiet for a long while, and when he spoke, his voice was low. "Our plan has worked too smoothly. The whole countryside believes Amery guilty. Tis as if God is with us and I know that cannot be true."

"There are always risks, cousin." Radolf smiled softly, comfortingly. "But Amery is only one man against many. His efforts will fail and we will have all we ever wanted. Shall I prove it to you?"

Kennard glanced up at him with a puzzled frown, watching Radolf motion to one of the peasant women working nearby.

"Go to Lady Jewel's chambers," he instructed once the woman stood before him. "Tell her I would be honored if she would break the fast with me."

Both men's attention followed the serfs journey across the room, up the wide stone staircase, and into the hall that led to the chambers above. When she had disappeared from view, Radolf stood and crossed to a table near them. After filling two goblets with wine, he returned to his place and handed one drink to his cousin.

"To us, Kennard," he toasted, raising his glass high. "To Harcourt, Wellington, and Lady Jewel."

Although doubt still lingered in Kennard's mind, Radolf's apparent confidence was infectious and the knight eagerly joined in, lifting his goblet in a salute before he, too, sampled its contents.

"Choose my path, cousin," Radolf urged with a grin, slapping the man's broad back, "and it shall lead us to greater ends."

Kennard was about to agree when his gaze suddenly moved past Radolf and fell upon Leta, the serving girl, as she descended the stairs, and he frowned when he saw the fearful look oh her face.

Unaware of the girl's presence, Radolf chuckled at his cousin's strange expression. "Art thou still not convinced, Kennard?" he asked, his smile fading when Kennard nodded past him and he turned to watch Leta approach, her head down and her hands clasped tightly together.

"Leta?" he said, setting aside his goblet. "Something is amiss. Is Lady Jewel ill?"

Leta's blue eyes glanced up nervously at him. "She is gone, m'lord."

"Gone?" Radolf repeated, quickly looking at Kennard, then back at the frightened girl. "What dost thou mean gone? Where?"

"The priests took her . . . last night." Suddenly Leta burst into tears. "I ... I couldn't stop them, m'lord. They .. . they said they would hurt her . . ."

"Priests?" Radolf challenged in disbelief.

Leta bit her lower lip to still her weeping. "They were not, m'lord. They only dressed as priests."

Radolf stiffened in rage, his amber-hued eyes blazing his hatred. "Amery," he hissed venomously.

"Yea, m'lord," Leta sobbed. "And ... he told me to deliver a .. . message to you." The serving girl trembled when Radolf turned a murderous glare upon her. "He ... he said, 'Amery has come to claim what is his.' "

"And you let him slip away as easily as the passing of night!" he bellowed, raising a fist high above him. With lightning speed, Radolf brought the knuckles of his hand down against the young girl's cheek in a stinging blow, knocking her delicate form to the stone floor.

"Nay, Radolf!" Kennard shouted, catching his cousin's wrist before Radolf could strike again. "Killing her will not change what has happened."

"But the bitch should be punished!" he ranted, struggling to free himself of the unrelenting grip. "She ran and hid herself! She worried for her own life rather than Lady Jewel's!"

"Nay, m'lord," Leta argued through her tears, blood trickling from the gash on her cheek. "Sir Amery instructed me to wait in m'lady's room until morning. He ... he said he would kill Lady Jewel if someone followed. I... I did it for her, m'lord."

His strength waning, for his cousin's hold would not lessen, Radolf could only glower at the serving girl. "You fool! She is his betrothed. He would not kill her. I will see your back bared and the lash laid against it for your stupidity."

"Radolf, calm thyself,"Kennard argued softly. "The others hear and will think the girl right. You cannot seem unjust in their eyes. We need them."

Radolf struggled a moment longer, then as if sanity had returned, he relaxed. "Yea, cousin. We need them," he said quietly, his voice tired. "And your worries were justified. I will listen more freely if you come to me again with them."

Slowly, as if testing his cousin, Kennard released him." Tis in the past, Radolf, and we cannot waste a moment cursing what we cannot change."

"Yea, we cannot." Radolf agreed. "But Amery will learn he has met an equal foe in me. If be is to win, it will be only by my death." A vague smile twisted his lips. "And I intend to live long enough to see the children of my grandchildren."

"And I will be at your side." Kennard smiled. Looking at Leta who still crouched on the floor before them, he waved her away and waited until they were alone again before he asked, "Shall I ready our horses, cousin?"

"Yea, Kennard." Radolf nodded. "We will visit the monasteries until we find the one who gave Amery shelter and his disguise. We will learn what they know of him and then split them asunder. I will teach them all that I rule here."

"You would murder priests?" Kennard asked, taken aback.

Radolf smiled evilly, staring blankly off into space. "I will kill whomever it takes to have what I want."