Heart's Magic (18 page)

“What you will do,” Mirielle told her, “is
lie down for a while. If Lord Gavin wishes to arrive unannounced,
then he cannot expect us to be waiting for him, can he?”

Mirielle sent Donada off to her room, then
began to issue orders to nearby maidservants. She tried not to show
her impatience with the duties that required her attention, when
all she wanted to do was rush into the great hall to find Hugh, so
she could ask where Giles was. Her instructions to the servants
completed, she stepped through the arch into a group of unfamiliar
men-at-arms, who at once moved aside to allow her to pass into the
great hall.

Brice stood before one of the huge
fireplaces, talking to two men. One of them was Hugh. While Brice
spoke to the second man, whose back was toward Mirielle, Hugh fixed
her with a warning gaze. A slight motion of his head, a movement of
one hand, and she understood that he wanted her to pretend she did
not know him.

Questions crowed her mind. Who was that
second man, still with his back to her, engrossed in conversation
with Brice? Where was Giles? Had he returned with Hugh, or not?

And then, by the shape of the unknown man’s
broad shoulders, by his height, and by the expression on Hugh’s
face as he looked from her to the tall newcomer, Mirielle knew the
answers to all of her questions.

Before she could say or do anything, Alda
came into the room. She was still gowned as she had been for the
midday meal, in bright blue silk, with her hair bound up beneath a
sheer white veil and the wide gold circlet of her station sitting
upon her smooth brow.

“Brice, what is happening here?” Alda
demanded, marching toward him with arrogance in her every step.
“The servant who gave me your message said only that I was
commanded to present myself in the hall at once. I warn you, I will
not accept such a summons from you. You are to come to me when I
call.”

“Sir Brice did not send for you.” The man
standing with Brice and Hugh turned around, allowing both women a
full view of his features. “The summons was mine.”

Mirielle stood frozen as if caught in a
trance. The stranger’s brilliant blue eyes were fixed on Alda, a
diversion which gave Mirielle a chance to study the man. His hair
was cut short so it just reached his earlobes and he was
clean-shaven. With the thick beard gone, Mirielle could see his
face in all its chiseled strength.

A strangled sound from Alda made Mirielle
tear her gaze from the man’s face. Alda’s face was chalk-white. She
struggled for breath.

“Gavin!” Alda gasped. “But—but—you are
dead!”

“As you can see,” the man said, his face and
his voice both strangely hard and cold at this reunion of husband
and wife, “I am not dead. I have returned at King Henry’s behest,
to take my rightful place as Baron of Wroxley.”

Alda fainted.

Mirielle wished that she could faint, too,
that she could sink to the floor of the great hall as Alda had
done, and thus blot out all questions, all doubts and fears, at
least for a few moments. For Giles—her Giles—was not Giles at all.
He was Gavin of Wroxley, son of a line of fierce warriors, and he
had won her heart with lies.

She could not imagine what he would do next.
She expected no mercy from the cold, self-contained man who was
truly a stranger to her. One thought nudged at her mind, terrifying
her. While secretly at Wroxley to spy, Gavin had learned of Alda’s
adulterous affair with Brice. Surely, now he would have Brice cast
into the dungeon, there to be tortured and executed—or would
challenge Brice to combat—or, at the very least, would send his
wife’s lover from Wroxley Castle in disgrace. Mirielle could tell
that Brice had no inkling of his fast-approaching fate. Fear for
Brice was a fist clenched in the pit of her stomach. Her worst
nightmare was coming true.

The most recent scene from the depths of her
crystal globe was becoming real, too. For the man she had seen only
in mysterious visions, whose hauntingly familiar but unrecognized
face she had glimpsed for the first time on the previous night, was
Giles without his heavy beard—and Giles was Lord Gavin of
Wroxley.

“There is no need for a welcoming feast this
night,” Gavin said to Mirielle. “Save it until tomorrow at midday.
Merely be certain my men have what food they want and make the best
guest chamber ready for my friend, Hugh. See that he has whatever
he needs to make him comfortable. All I will require for myself is
bread, a piece of cold meat or a wedge of cheese, and a pitcher of
wine. And a hot bath.”

“Yes, my lord.” Mirielle looked directly at
him, not ashamed to let him see how frightened and angry she was.
Gavin looked back at her with the same hard expression he had shown
to everyone else in the great hall.

She was not surprised that she was the only
one who recognized him. Gavin of Wroxley stood straighter and,
therefore, appeared to be taller than Giles the pilgrim had been
and there was about him an air of stern command. The beard, of
course, had been an excellent way to cover his face, but his hair
was a darker shade of brown than she remembered. Thinking about the
difference in color, she concluded that his hair had been bleached
by the burning sun of the Holy Land in much the same way in which
linens could be bleached by sunlight. When the barber had shorn his
hair, the bleached strands had been removed, revealing the darker
layer of hair beneath.

Nor did anyone appear to recognize Hugh. He
maintained the altered face that Mirielle had noticed at first
sight of him on horseback, and his bright green tunic and hose were
very different from the dark robes he had worn on his previous
visit. As for the name he continued to use, it was a common one.
There were at least three Hughs among the servants and men-at-arms
living at the castle.

“I will be in my chamber,” Gavin said to
Mirielle in a voice that carried across the hall. “Your cousin
tells me you are serving as chatelaine, so I expect you to bathe
me.”

“I?” Mirielle was on the verge of declaring
that he could bathe himself, when he spoke again.

“I also expect Lady Alda to attend me. See
that she does. I am certain she has recovered promptly from her
swoon, so allow no excuses from her.” With those words, Gavin
stalked out of the great hall.

“I hate this room,” Alda said. She stayed
near the door, as if she would leave on the slightest pretext.

“I am surprised to hear it.” Stripped to the
waist, Gavin prowled about the lord’s chamber, lifting the lid on a
clothing chest to look inside, testing the softness of the newly
made bed, peering into corners. Idly, he slid the bedcurtains
closed, then opened them again. “I should have thought, Alda, that
the moment my father died, or as soon as he was buried at the
latest, you would have moved yourself and all your belongings in
here. It is much the best room in the castle. With two pairs of
windows there is plenty of light, and these braziers make it warm
enough even for someone like myself, who is accustomed to the heat
of the Holy Land. And there is privacy here.

“Why didn’t you take this room, Alda?” Gavin
paused to watch her reaction to the question.

So did Mirielle. She was directing the
servants who were preparing Gavin’s bath. A large wooden tub had
been dragged up the steps and into the room, a sheet had been
draped over the tub to prevent splinters from causing damage to the
baron’s most private parts, and now buckets of hot water were being
poured into the tub.

“This was your father’s room,” Alda said to
Gavin. “He always despised me.”

“If that is true, why did he arrange our
marriage?”

Alda looked startled at the question. She
shook her head, sending furtive glances around the room as if she
expected to discover the ghost of Baron Udo waiting to confront
her.

“Udo died in this room, in that very bed,”
Alda said, pointing.

“Alda,” Mirielle spoke up, “only the wooden
frame is the same as in Baron Udo’s time. The mattress, the
hangings, and the linens are all new. I saw to the changes
myself.”

“I will not sleep here,” Alda repeated. “Not
ever. Nor will I stay in this room any longer.” She reached for the
latch to open the door.

“Then you will force me to join you in
whatever lesser bedchamber you presently occupy.” Gavin’s palm
slammed flat against the wood just above Alda’s head, keeping the
door closed.

“No!” Alda cried. “You are a stranger to me.
I have not seen you for eleven years.”

“After sleeping alone for so long a time you
ought to be eager for my embrace.”

Mirielle wondered if she and Gavin were the
only ones who appreciated the full irony of his statement. Alda’s
wild words and Gavin’s cool response to them aroused open interest
in the servants who had by now dumped all of the buckets of hot
water into the tub.

“My lord,” said Mirielle, “I think these
servants should leave your room. And so should I go.” She could not
look at him. She could not bear to think that he would lie with
Alda and assert his rights as Alda’s husband. Gavin knew that Alda
and Brice were lovers. Did he hope to reclaim his wife’s devotion?
His treatment of Alda so far did not suggest this was his plan. Or
was he going to punish Alda in an intimate way that Mirielle could
not guess at? She could not be certain what this new version of
Giles, this Lord Gavin, who appeared to be cold and completely
without emotion, would do.

“The servants may go,” Gavin said. “You are
to stay here, Mirielle.” The instant he removed his hand from the
door, Alda jerked it open and ran out of the room. Seeing the
fierce look on Gavin’s face, the servants quickly followed their
mistress. Gavin closed the door again after them.

“Which leaves only you to help me bathe,” he
said to Mirielle. When she did not answer him, he resumed his
wandering about the room.

“I assume that this chamber has been
thoroughly cleaned since my father died.” Gavin paused, brows
raised, awaiting her response.

“Lady Alda ordered the room locked after
Baron Udo was buried.” Mirielle spoke through stiff lips, wondering
what he really wanted of her and determined to provide as little
information as possible. “Since my coming to Wroxley, it has been
scrubbed and new bedding brought in, as you heard me tell Alda. I
have ordered it aired and dusted at regular intervals. In case you
should finally decide to return home,” she ended sarcastically.

“I did not really expect to find anything
useful here.” Gavin stopped his pacing to stand close to Mirielle.
“I can guess at your feelings,” he said.

“Can you, my lord?”

“You are angry. You believe your trust in me
was betrayed. You wonder if I kissed you only to gain information
from you.”

“That is a fair description of my present
emotions, my lord. With one minor omission.”

“And what is that?” He dared to touch her
cheek in a soft caress. Mirielle drew in her breath, shocked at her
warm reaction to him when she was so angry.

“I regret helping you to escape,” she
said.

“If you knew everything -”

“But I do not,” she interrupted. “I know only
that you deceived me and everyone else at Wroxley. You abused my
trust in you to gather information for your own purposes. Oh, I
wish you had not returned! Before this day I was able to think of
you with kindness, and with sorrow that we would not meet again.
Now I know what a liar you are.”

“This is my castle,” he said in a soft,
dangerous voice. “I hold it in fief from King Henry. I have Henry’s
prior consent to everything I have done here, and everything I
intend to do in the future.”

“After the way you have treated me, how can
you expect me to believe you again?” she cried, her thoughts in
painful turmoil.

“Believe this.” He caught her by the elbows
and when she tried to pull away, he only drew her closer. His hands
slid down her arms to grab her wrists, to force them around his
waist until she was embracing him. Then he kissed her.

Mirielle knew she ought to fight him, but she
could not. She had ached for his kisses since their moonlit parting
at the postern gate. She had fallen asleep each night thinking of
him, wishing he was with her. The touch of his mouth was as
familiar to her as her own heart’s longing. When he released her
wrists, her hands slipped upward along his spine, tightening their
embrace. The pressure of his lips on hers increased and Mirielle
opened her mouth, accepting him. Gavin groaned softly and fitted
himself even more closely to her. They stood thus, straining
against each other for a long, breath-stopping time, until Gavin
loosened his hold on her enough to enable him to speak.

“I have not deceived you about my feelings
for you,” he whispered, his lips still against hers. “I have wanted
you since that first evening, when you stopped me from chasing
after Alda and Brice and thus prevented me from ruining my chance
of succeeding at what I had set myself to do here. I want you
still, Mirielle, though my desire for you could endanger all I mean
to accomplish.”

“I will not forgive your deception so easily,
my lord. Nor will I believe what you say to me now.” Though she was
aching to remain in his arms, she pulled away, stepping out of his
embrace. Her next words ripped across Mirielle’s heart, but she had
to say them, if only to remind herself of the truth he had
apparently forgotten. “This night you must go to your wife and lie
with her. Perhaps you will give her another child.”

“Or, perhaps not.” The tenderness was gone
from his face. “I do not give you permission to leave me. Come,
Lady Mirielle, it is your duty to help me bathe.” In one swift
movement he pulled off his lower garments to stand naked before
her.

Mirielle had seen unclothed men before. She
had often attended guests in their baths. It was a polite custom of
hospitality. Guests were almost always wise enough not to take
advantage of the opportunity, and there was usually a servant or
two close at hand to act as chaperone against improper
advances.