Heart's Magic (11 page)

“If you are determined to play this dangerous
game with Alda, then you ought to care when she is angry,” Mirielle
muttered to his retreating back.

The tensions of the last few days were
wearing upon her spirit. Needing half an hour or so of quiet
reflection, Mirielle was about to flee to the privacy of her
workroom when she saw Hugh entering the hall. If he was looking for
her, he might well search in her workroom. She would have to find
another place in which to be alone, for Hugh was one of the people
whom she wanted to avoid. She was in no mood to fend off his subtle
questions.

There was only one place in the entire castle
where a mage was not likely to go. Since Wroxley lacked a resident
priest few people bothered to visit the chapel. To Mirielle it
seemed the ideal spot for solitude. Hugh had apparently not seen
her. Quickly she left the great hall, hurried across the entrance
hall, and descended the inside staircase to a narrow anteroom. From
this room one could enter the chapel or continue down the stairs to
the crypt below. Alda’s late father-in-law, Baron Udo, was buried
in the crypt, along with his wife, his parents and grandparents,
and an assortment of children from the family that had held Wroxley
for three generations.

The heavy chapel door squeaked a bit on its
hinges as Mirielle pushed it open, but otherwise all was silence.
Tall, narrow stained glass windows set into the plain stone walls
were the only decoration in the little chapel. On rare sunny days
shafts of multicolored light coming through the windows made the
chapel glow. Not so today. Lacking sunlight to bring it to life the
stained glass was dark and muted in appearance. Nor was the rest of
the chapel much more cheerful. The unused altar was a bare stone
slab. The floor was made of polished stone slabs. There were no
cushions to kneel upon, no benches or chairs, not even candlesticks
or a crucifix.

Yet here was the comforting peace that
Mirielle sought. She felt it at once and the knots at her heart and
in her stomach began to unwind. She went to her knees on the stone
altar step and bowed her head.

How long she remained there she did not know.
Nor was she able to formulate a suitable prayer. She did not know
of any prayers applicable to her immediate circumstances. All she
could do was send a plea for help to the Presence she knew was with
her in that sacred place.

“Please, give me the patience to deal with
Alda’s jealousy and with Brice’s stubbornness where Alda is
concerned. Show me what I ought to do about those two men, Giles
and Hugh, whom I am certain should not be here at all. Give me the
courage to do what is right.”

When she had entered the chapel the door had
not shut tightly after her. Through the slight opening she heard
the soft scrape of footsteps on stone. Mirielle lifted her head.
Someone was descending the stairs to the anteroom. At the level of
the anteroom the footsteps paused before continuing down the next
flight toward the crypt.

Mirielle got to her feet, her prayerful mood
gone. On tiptoe she sped to the doorway to look out through the
opening between the door and its frame. As she expected, the
anteroom was empty. The footsteps stopped below, at the bottom of
the stairs. Then a deliberate pacing sound reached her ears.
Someone was in the crypt, walking among the marble tombs.

Her curiosity aroused, Mirielle slipped out
of the chapel and went to the steps that led downward. She could
see a flicker of candlelight below. There were candelabra in the
crypt, tall, three-branched objects made by the blacksmith in Baron
Udo’s time because Udo went daily to the crypt to pray at his
wife’s tomb. As part of her duties as acting chatelaine Mirielle
saw to it that candles were always in place on the candelabra, with
the flint and the wool lint necessary to light them close at hand,
but seldom in these days did anyone pray in the crypt.

Mirielle went down the stairs as quietly as
she could. At the bottom she drew into the shadow cast by the tomb
of Gavin, the first baron of Wroxley. She knew his story, in part
because Baron Udo had named his only son after the man. Everyone in
the castle knew the tale. The first Gavin had come to England with
William the Conqueror and, like many other Norman warriors in that
band of invaders, he had won a title for his loyalty. He had been
given Wroxley because it lay in a rebellious area and William
trusted him to bring it under control. Baron Gavin had held his
lands with brutal justice. His tomb was a massive, shoulder-high
oblong of stone with a harsh face carved onto the reclining figure
atop it, a fitting tribute to a man of iron and blood who had died
in battle against rebels. Baron Udo had made his son the first
baron’s namesake in hope that the second Gavin would be as strong
and valiant as his ancestor.

Mirielle peered around the corner of the
first Gavin’s tomb. On one of the candelabra all three candles had
been lit. The flames sent a ghostly light across the stone walls
and the low, arched roof. The other person in the crypt was
standing beside the tomb of Baron Udo, a lower, less bulky place of
interment than the block of stone behind which Mirielle was hiding.
Seeing who it was that stood there, Mirielle pressed one hand to
her lips to stifle her cry of surprise.

Giles put both of his hands on the tomb of
Baron Udo in a motion that was almost a caress.

“Justice,” he said in a low, passionate
voice. “I will see to it. I swear by your own bones that I will not
rest until all is put right and justice is done.”

Giles lowered his head, standing in silence
for a long time. Mirielle watched him, not moving, scarcely daring
to breathe until, finally, he stirred and took a deep breath.
Mirielle heard him walking away from Baron Udo’s tomb, but she
could not see where he was going. Risking discovery, she looked
around the corner of her hiding place. Giles now stood next to the
tomb of Baron Udo’s wife. A sweet, sad smile curved his lips as he
gazed upon the polished marble features of that former lady of
Wroxley. His fingers lightly traced the contour of her cheek.

“I promise.” Giles’s whisper echoed against
the stone vaulting. “I will not fail you.”

A few moments later he snuffed the candles.
By the dim light filtering down from the anteroom he made his way
to the stairs and started up them. With one foot on the third step
he stopped. Within the space of half a heartbeat he whirled, came
back down the steps, and caught Mirielle, dragging her out of
hiding and pulling her into the faint light. Mirielle had thought
he was unarmed, but suddenly there was a dagger at her throat.

“God’s holy teeth!” he swore. Recognizing
her, he lowered the dagger. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the chapel and heard a noise,” she
said, her voice shaking. “I—I thought perhaps one of the
men-at-arms was meeting a lover in the crypt, which would be most
inappropriate, and so I -” Seeing his grin and the way he was
shaking his head, she cut off her hastily improvised excuses.

“Lady Mirielle, you are a bad liar. Nor are
you much better as a spy.”

“I was not spying! I did not know it was you,
for you are reported to be sick in bed. I can see that you are not
sick. I think you are the spy here.”

“Why? Because, thanks to your excellent
liniment, I have regained my health? Or because I have chosen to
pay my respects to the last baron?” He spoke lightly, as if he were
making a joke, but Mirielle saw no humor in his visit to the
crypt.

“I wish you would tell me the truth,” she
said.

Giles had replaced the dagger wherever he
kept it hidden, but he had not let go of Mirielle. She was still
pulled tight against him, an arrangement that made her most acutely
aware of his strength and his tough masculinity. Mirielle’s hands
rested on his chest, her fingers grasping the wool of his tunic.
This position brought to her mind the scene in her workroom, when
it had been his naked torso she touched. A wave of yearning swept
over her. She forced it back, refusing to give way to her
emotions.

“When you stood by Baron Udo’s tomb, I heard
you speak of justice,” she said, hoping to prod him into revealing
what she wanted to know.

“‘Tis only what all men desire,” he
responded.

“Please, just once, speak truth to me.”

“Truth?” His blue eyes caught what little
light there was. They glowed with passion and conviction. “In
truth, I mean no harm to you, or to Wroxley and the honest folk who
live here. You, and they, have nothing to fear from me.”

“How I wish I could believe you.” With an
effort that cost her more than he could know, Mirielle wrenched
herself free from Giles’s embrace. “Whether you actually are a
pilgrim as you claim, or whether you gained admittance to Wroxley
by a lie I cannot tell, but I am certain that you have remained
here so long by deceitful means.”

“If you think so, why haven’t you warned your
cousin Brice about me? Or if he will not listen to you, why not
tell the captain of the guard?” His words were a soft taunt,
echoing the question Mirielle asked herself each day.

“I a warning needed?” A new voice intruded
upon the two in the crypt. Alda stood just above them on the steps.
She was perfectly still, with not the slightest motion noticeable
in her full skirts, a fact which told Mirielle she had been there,
listening, for at least several minutes. In the shadowy light
Alda’s face was also still, as if her features were carved out of
cold, hard stone. Only her eyes were alive, blazing with a golden
flame.

But there was no light in the crypt to
reflect itself in Alda’s eyes. With the candles extinguished, the
only light was filtered down the stairway from the anteroom above.
Seeing Alda standing like a statue, with her eyes aglow, Mirielle
felt a chill. Then Alda lowered her eyelids and took a step
downward toward the crypt and the illusion of her strange eyes was
gone.

“What has Sir Giles done to make you mistrust
him, Mirielle?” Alda asked.

“You misunderstood, my lady,” Giles said at
once, before Mirielle could respond. “Any fault here is entirely
mine, but there is nothing in my mistake to cause distrust. Seldom
have I been in so large and fine a castle. I was wandering about,
which I confess I should not have been doing without a guide, and I
lost my way. Lady Mirielle has just scolded me for intruding where
I should not be. I believe she was about to lead me back to the
great hall.”

“You could have found the great hall
yourself,” Alda said, not troubling to hide her disbelief of this
explanation. “It is at the top of these stairs, on the level above
the chapel and just across the entrance hall.”

“I thank you for the directions, my lady.”
Giles bowed to Alda. He held out his hand to Mirielle. “May I offer
you my arm to help you ascend the stairs, Lady Mirielle?”

“Mirielle will remain with me.” Alda turned
her blazing eyes upon him and spoke in a low, hissing voice. “Get
you gone, Sir Giles.”

For a moment the two stared at each other,
Giles’s blue eyes locked with Alda’s golden-brown ones in a tense
battle of wills. Alda was still a few steps above him, looking down
upon him with all the arrogance at her command. Never taking his
eyes from hers, Giles slowly mounted the steps until he stood on
the same step as Alda. Now he glared down at her from his superior
height. Alda tilted her head so she could continue to look into
Giles’s eyes, but her steady gaze did not falter for an instant. It
was Giles who broke off that fierce contest by moving his head to
look at Mirielle.

“My lady Mirielle,” he asked, “do you wish to
come with me?”

“I believe Lady Alda wishes to converse with
me in private,” Mirielle said.

“You are certain you wish to remain?” Giles
said.

“Of course.” Mirielle summoned up a
smile.

Giles looked hard at her. Then, with a nod,
he went up the steps and disappeared from view. Alda ignored his
going. When Giles’s footsteps died away Mirielle was still standing
on the floor of the crypt, looking upward at Alda. But Alda was not
looking at her. Alda was staring at Baron Udo’s tomb, her face set
in hard lines of either anger or disgust, Mirielle could not tell
which. The silence grew ever deeper.

“You wished to speak with me?” Mirielle
prodded, wanting to be done with the tongue-lashing she was sure
would come. All the same, she was startled by the vicious tone of
Alda’s voice.

“Are you so desperate to have a man that you
will lie down in a crypt with a stranger?” Alda demanded. “What
will your cousin say when I tell him of this?”

“There is nothing to tell,” Mirielle said
stoutly. “I have done no wrong and neither has Sir Giles. You heard
him. He lost his way -”

“I do not believe that and neither do you,”
Alda interrupted. Her eyes narrowed in speculation and a slow,
crafty smile curved her lips. “Or is it Sir Giles’s friend who
intrigues you? I understand you spent an hour or two alone with him
in your workroom the other night. A wooden table makes a hard bed
but then, if one is eager enough -”

“Stop it!” Mirielle cried. “I have lain with
no man, and if you try to convince Brice that I have, he will
believe me, not you.”

“Do not be too certain of that, Mirielle. I
saw you in Sir Giles’s arms. If Brice were to learn of it, he might
well kill the man.” Suddenly, inexplicably, Alda shrugged. “Get
back to your work. And do not let me—or any of my servants—see you
loitering again with either of those worthless pilgrims.”

“They are our guests.” Mirielle stood her
ground. “I have done nothing wrong, and you cannot prove that they
have, either.”

“I have dismissed you, Mirielle.” Now Alda
sounded bored.

Thankful that the scolding had not been worse
and not wanting to remain with Alda, Mirielle hastened up the
stairs, past Alda and out of the crypt.