Heart's Magic (20 page)

Gavin did not tell her what he was thinking,
that it had been clear to him then and should have been clear to
her that they would never deal well together. The young man he had
once been could not bear Alda’s shrieking rages or her insulting
complaints against his masculinity. Having provided his father with
the healthy future heir Baron Udo wanted and with Alda carrying a
second child, it had seemed to that younger Gavin the kindest thing
he could do would be to take the cross and leave England. If he
were killed on crusade, Alda would be free to marry someone more
pleasing to her. In the meantime, his father would take care of
Alda and her children, and Udo was strong enough to keep Alda under
control.

The older, wiser Gavin knew he had run away
from an unhappy marriage. In his youth he had been a coward in the
face of Alda’s ever-increasing fury, and all the honors and wealth
he had won for his valor fighting in the Holy Land meant nothing in
the face of his youthful cowardice. Gavin was convinced that
everything that had gone wrong at Wroxley was his fault, because he
had not been there to prevent it. Now, all he could do was try to
put things right.

“Was it a son or daughter you had?” he asked
his wife. “Alda, did the babe live?”

“It lived.” Alda glared at him. “It was a
girl. Udo had chosen names for his expected grandson or
granddaughter. He insisted if the child were a girl, it should be
named Matilda, for your mother.”

“I am glad.” Gavin smiled at her. “She must
have been a joy to you. Alda, I thank you for my daughter. Where is
little Matilda now? I would like to meet her.”

“I refused to name her as Udo wished,” Alda
said. “Your father was away from home when she was born and I had
her privately baptized before he could return to prevent me from
doing as I wished. Her name is Emma.”

“I see. There must have been a quarrel about
that, when he learned what you had done.”

“The child scarcely mattered.” Alda lifted
her chin as if she were still defying her father-in-law. “It was my
first victory over Udo. That was all I cared about. Later, there
were—other victories.”

“I am sorry if you got along with my father
no better than you did with me,” Gavin said. “You have not told me
where Emma is. I want to see my daughter.”

“You will have a long journey for that.”
Alda’s smile was drenched in wicked glee.

“Why? Did she die?” Infants and young
children often died. Gavin knew a moment of grief for the child he
had never seen, until Alda spoke again. Then Gavin thought he had
never before seen or heard such malice in any human.

“Emma is very much alive. She is ten years
old now and also fostering at Cliffvale Castle. With her
half-brother, with whom, for reasons I cannot comprehend, she is on
excellent terms.”

“Half brother?” Gavin repeated, trying to
make sense out of Alda’s words.

“Welcome home, Gavin.” A triumphant smile
curled Alda’s lips. “I have dreamed of this moment for years. You
can thank my parents for their vigilance in the months just before
our marriage. Because of the close watch they kept on me, Warrick
is most assuredly your son. However, your control over me was
somewhat lax, especially when we were at court. As a result, Emma
is not your daughter.”

He could not speak for a long time. He just
stared at her.

“I could divorce you for adultery,” he
finally said. “The Church would allow it.”

“I should much prefer that you rid yourself
of me on the grounds that I was not a virgin when we wed,” she told
him.

“I did wonder,” he said. “But you pretended
so well and at the time, I was still enchanted by your beauty.
False loveliness, as I now know.”

“Do it, Gavin. Have the marriage declared
invalid from the first,” she dared him, mocking him with her
laughter. “Make bastards of both children. Then that stupid brat,
Warrick, will not inherit anything of yours or of Udo’s.”

“I can understand a girl’s distaste for a
husband who was chosen to suit her parents rather than herself, but
how can a mother dislike her own children?” When Alda only laughed
again and did not answer the question, Gavin asked another. “Who is
Emma’s father?”

“I will never tell you, no matter what you do
to me.” Alda was still smiling, still laughing at him. “Come now,
kind-hearted Gavin, will you destroy a little girl’s life by
publicly proclaiming her mother an adulteress? And just think of
the effect on Warrick, who dotes on his sister. No, I see in your
face that you will not set me aside. I thought not. The shame would
be too great for you to endure.”

“Do not forget,” Gavin said in a quiet tone
designed to hide all he was feeling, “that I have spent a decade in
the Holy Land, where the Saracens are famous for their subtle,
prolonged, and incredibly painful tortures. You do not know me at
all, Alda.”

He saw fear touch her lovely face, before she
recovered her self-possession enough to laugh at him again. She
took a deep breath, thrusting her breasts against the silk of her
dress, letting him see her hard little nipples.

“Tell me, Gavin,” she purred, “do you still
wish to claim a husband’s rights over me?”

“I would as soon make love to a moldering
corpse,” he said, and left her.

In her workroom Mirielle brewed a kettle of
hot water with dried mint and lavender flowers. When the infusion
was ready she and drank a cup of it, wishing she had instead some
of Hugh’s stimulating yet soothing tcha, for she had much work to
do. She needed to replenish her supply of the medicines she had
taken to the village. She planned to try a stronger version of the
preparation she had been using to treat Donada’s illness. Alda
wanted more rosewater and a fresh jar of the lotion she used on her
hands to keep them smooth and white. She would keep busy, so she
would have no time to think.

But Mirielle found she could not work. She
sat on the bench, elbows on the table, head in her hands, while
unwanted thoughts crowded into her mind. She had risen that morning
still sad over Giles’s departure, but unashamed to admit to herself
that she cared for him. Long ago, that morning—had it been years or
truly only a single day?—when she had still been ignorant of the
truth, she had believed she would always care for Giles … who was
not Giles … who was another man entirely. Now she knew how foolish
she had been to love so easily.

In Mirielle’s imagination a chasm had opened
between herself and the man she wanted, a gulf contrived of false
hopes and dreams, of lies told and truths unspoken. It was wrong of
her to think of Lord Gavin. He was married. Even now he was abed
with his wife. Alda’s maidservant had come giggling into the great
hall to spread the tale of Gavin’s sudden appearance in Alda’s
bedchamber and his brusque command to the maid to leave them alone.
Judging from his temper, the maid had predicted, the baron would
take his wife by force if she resisted him. The hall was abuzz with
gossip, for everyone knew about Alda and Brice, and Brice had not
appeared for the evening meal.

Assured by Donada that Brice had merely gone
to the mews to see his falcon and that he did not want to be
disturbed, Mirielle had fled to her own place of refuge.

“May I join you?” Hugh had materialized in
the doorway while Mirielle was deep in thought.

“If Lord Gavin orders Brice and me out of
Wroxley,” Mirielle said, “this may soon become your workroom.”

“I do not think that will happen.” Hugh sat
down beside her. At once Minn left her warm spot by the furnace to
curve around Hugh’s legs. He reached down to scratch the cat’s
ears.

“You are wearing your own face, Master Hugh,”
Mirielle said. “Am I to take that as a good omen, or a bad
one?”

“Take it as a sign that I will be honest with
you.”

“I wish you had been honest the last time you
were in this room.” Her voice was sharp with the anger and hurt she
felt. She would have risen, to put distance between herself and
Hugh, but he placed one hand on her arm and Mirielle discovered she
was unable to move.

“At the time, I could not tell you more than
I did. For people like you and me, there are certain tests that
must be faced, and passed or failed, and during those tests no
other person can do anything to help. That is why it was left to
you to rescue Gavin. You passed that particular test splendidly.
You learned valuable lessons from it, as you were meant to do.

“Once again, I must ask for your help,” Hugh
continued. “As I told you at our last meeting, there is a dark
magic at work here at Wroxley, a force determined to forestall
Gavin’s efforts to take and hold his rightful inheritance. I was
warned of this force—never mind how or by whom—and so I advised
Gavin to come here first in disguise.”

“A powerful mage would be aware that you are
here.” Mirielle put a touch of sarcasm into her voice to let Hugh
know she would not be easily won over this second time.

“There are curious gaps in the fabric of this
force,” Hugh said. “I do not understand why it is so. Perhaps, when
we know more, when we have identified the source of it, those same
gaps will provide us with a means to overcome the evil.”

“Evil,” Mirielle repeated, feeling as if a
chill wind had touched her.

“I have no doubt that the dark strength we
face is evil,” Hugh said. “Everyone in this castle is affected by
it. No one is immune, not you or your cousin, not Alda, not that
good woman Donada or her son. Will you help?”

“When last you were here, you lied to me,”
Mirielle said stubbornly. “Why should I believe you now?”

“I have never lied to you,” Hugh said.

“Indeed, he has not.” Gavin walked into the
workroom.

At once Mirielle was freed from Hugh’s
binding that kept her beside him on the bench. With painful
awareness that Gavin had just come from Alda’s bed, she rose to
face him. He did not look like a man who had taken pleasure with
his wife. Gavin’s face was haggard, his movements were stiff and
controlled, and his eyes burned with a bitter light that frightened
Mirielle.

“I am the one who deceived you,” Gavin said
to her. “My excuse must be that I did soon the king’s authority.
Here is the proof you demanded of me. This is the king’s writ. I
want you to read it.” He handed Mirielle a roll of parchment.

“This grants you Wroxley in fief for the
duration of your life.” Mirielle scanned the words written by the
royal clerks.

“Read further,” said Hugh.

“King Henry orders you to use whatever means
you deem proper to uproot and cast out any usurpers, criminals,
traitors—or wizards. The king further grants you the right to
punish any and all malefactors whenever and in whatever way you
deem proper.” Mirielle looked from the parchment to Gavin. “This is
an enlargement on the rights held by most nobles.”

“What is in that document was written there
for my protection, so no one can question what I choose to do
here,” Gavin said. “This is a war to the death, in which, as Hugh
as just told you, we need your help.”

She stared at him, unable to answer at first
because she was fighting her own war, with herself. Her mind told
her to be cautious in all her dealings with this man. Her heart
urged her to do everything he asked of her.

“Mirielle,” Gavin went on, “I want the writ
put in a safe location, where even magic cannot touch it. Do you
know of such a place?”

“Yes,” she said, relenting a little. “Beneath
the altar in the chapel is an empty space where, I have been told,
jewels and plate and other treasures can be hidden in time of
war.”

“I remember it.” Gavin nodded. “A chapel is
not a place where an evil mage is likely to go.”

“It would be safer still if you were to have
a cross set on the altar,” Mirielle suggested.

“Where is the gold cross my father had made
for the chapel?” Gavin asked. “Where are the candlesticks, the
chalice and paten, and the other vessels?”

“I do not know,” Mirielle said. “I have never
seen any of those furnishings. It is my understanding that the last
priest at Wroxley left immediately after Lord Udo’s funeral. When I
came here, the chapel was empty, as it is now.”

“Didn’t you question that?” Gavin frowned at
her. “In my childhood, we always had a resident priest, who said
Mass every day.”

“I did ask Alda about it once. She acted as
if she was not interested in the subject. I must tell you, my lord,
that I am not deeply attached to the official Church. The nature of
my work makes me cautious around priests who may be intolerant of
my personal beliefs.”

“I observe a similar caution,” Hugh
remarked.

Mirielle expected some comment from Gavin on
what she had revealed. Instead, he changed the subject to speak
about Brice.

“I have told your cousin he may remain here
temporarily, until I have made a decision about a permanent
seneschal,” Gavin said. “I hope you will remain, too,
Mirielle.”

“From what you and Master Hugh have told me,
I think I must stay. I believe my skills will be needed,” she
answered him with reluctance, her emotions still at war with reason
and the memory of his deceit. She turned her attention to Hugh. It
would be easier to forgive him than Gavin, for Hugh was not the man
to whom she had given her heart. “Well, Master Hugh, it would
appear that you and I will have an opportunity to learn from each
other after all.” Mirielle looked down at the royal document in her
hands and then at Gavin again. She forced herself to speak through
trembling lips.

“Brice wants to continue as seneschal, and
later to move on to some more important post. He is ambitious for
land and a title, and he wants to amass a good dowry for me. He is
too concerned with earthly renown, but I do not believe he is an
evil man. Gavin, I feel compelled to remind you of what you know
already, what you learned on your secret visit here, and what
others also know. Brice and Alda are lovers. I know you cannot let
that pass, not when they have been indiscreet to the point of
folly. What will you do to my cousin?”