Love's Magic (11 page)

Abner stammered, “He lives, my lord, but barely so. With Lady Evianne and Lady Celestia both away from the manor …”

“I’ll go back,” Celestia said, already turning for her horse.

“Wait!” Nicholas dismounted and knelt before Abner so that they would be face to face. “The monastery is gone? Why?” Dread filled him from the top of his head to the pit of his stomach. “They were good men.

Godly men.” Better than he, for certes.

“Were there other survivors?”

Abner shrugged, then chewed his lip, as if trying to pull the exact words from memory. “The abbot says to tell ye that he thinks the baron is looking for something.” The boy shivered and Nicholas noticed the cooling spring air, and the dusk that was falling like a scarf over a lamp. Soon it would be dark, and there was no time for them all to make it back to Montehue Manor safely.

Abner added, “The abbot told me that it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Something is a secret? Or someone?” Celestia asked, staring at Nicholas.

Nicholas stood, his heart heavy. “The baron cannot be looking for me. He has sent me on the road he wants, and,” he gestured to the knights who still wore blue and gold, “he even sent his own men to make certain I get there.”

The knights protested that they’d sworn fealty to him, but Nicholas shook his head. “Why would the baron burn the monastery?”

“No!” Abner said, rocking from side to side. “No, the baron’s men were there to rescue the abbot from the flames of retr, ret—” Abner’s face reddened. “I forgot.”

“Then who did it? Who is responsible?” Sir Forrester put his hand on Abner’s shoulder, as if that would hasten the telling process.

“Don’t know, the abbot just wanted to warn you, he said,” Abner’s eyes widened, “to beware.”

Nicholas turned, staring at the woods around him.
Beware of what?

Celestia did not care for the hunted look on Nicholas’s face. “Well, that is a cryptic message, if I’ve ever heard one. Do you like puzzles, my lord?” She kept her tone light, and walked over to where Nicholas stood as still as a deer in the woods.

She slowly brought her hand to his sleeve and let it rest there, sending what soothing thoughts she could.

His cheeks were pale beneath his tanned skin, and she surmised that he was grieving for those lost or injured in the monastery. “I will go to Abbot Crispin, and heal him myself. In truth, mayhap we should all go back to the manor. It will be safer than pushing forward, with an unseen enemy at our backs.”

“Nay,” he pushed her fingers from his arm. “You belong with me.”

“I will go,” Lady Evianne said. “My place is there. It was a longing for adventure that brought me on this journey, and now I’ve had enough.” She laughed. “I vow that Sir Petyr will be sorry to see me go, but I’ll have Abner with me.”

“Gram!” Celestia looked up at her grandmother, who struck a pose upon the back of her horse.

“This makes the most sense, and if we leave now, just Abner and I, we can make it to the manor before midnight.”

“Thieves won’t hesitate to strike you, my lady,” Sir Petyr said in a strained voice. “I will escort you back.”

“No, I won’t allow it,” Celestia said, worried for her grandmother as much as she worried for Nicholas.

“I beg pardon,” Nicholas said firmly, “but I will decide who is going where.”

Celestia stepped back and tried to hide her frustration. Having a husband was inconvenient, if one had to ask to speak first.

“Lady Evianne is needed at the manor. Abner is with her, and can help protect her, if need be.”

“Yes, my lord!” Abner grinned and puffed out his small chest.

“Lady Celestia will stay with the caravan. Or have you forgotten what is at stake?”

Celestia willed herself to think of calming thoughts, white puffy clouds and sunshine dappling through the trees, so that she didn’t yell and behave unseemly.

“Nicholas, what will a few days mean to the baron?” She kept her tone reasonable as she asked the question.

He answered with unnecessary sarcasm, “As if I know? We are pawns, and I will have answers from him. Sooner,” he glowered and Celestia saw just how terrible he could be, “rather than later.”

“I see.” Her voice rose as she tried to make her point. “So you would send my grandmother home alone in the dark to satisfy your need for speedy answers?”

“Must you argue?”

“Yes!” Was he so focused on his own quest that he would send an old lady and a boy on their own through the night forest?

“Stop tapping your toe at me, my lady; the ringing of those damn bells annoys me. If it means so much, Bertram can escort them home.” He arched his brow as if she were being ridiculous.

Folding her hands primly at her waist, she breathed in deeply and said, “Thank you, my lord. That will be much more to my liking.” She was not being difficult!

“It would be my honor to go,” Sir Bertram said gallantly. Celestia saw that the knight had won Abner’s admiration and her spirits lifted, just a little. “If we leave now, I can meet you by tomorrow evening,” he said to Nicholas.

Celestia reached up to kiss her grandmother goodbye, tears blurring her vision. This was all happening so fast. Her grandmother’s company had offered security, and without her, Celestia would be forced to make her way as a wife and mistress of the keep without help. Not to mention that she was now left with many unanswered questions regarding the curse on the Peregrine name.

Five days ago she’d had a vision, and now here she was on a path much different from what she’d planned for her life. Saving Nicholas, being forced to wed, coming to terms with her own dreams and desires, only to realize that she had to give them all up in order to save her family, and even Nicholas. It was all so overwhelming that she could cry. She bowed her head into the horse’s warm side.

She felt the weight of her grandmother’s kiss at the top of her head, like a blessing. “There is no turning back, Celestia. What’s done is done. Make him love you.”

“It is not that simple, for a man to love one such as me.”

“You need to open your heart, ‘Tia. Or how can love find its way inside?”

Chapter
Six

C
elestia stared into the flames of the large bonfire before her, squirming a bit on the log she was sitting on. The mouthwatering scent of freshly cooked venison made her stomach rumble and took her mind away from the tight knot of her marriage. Satisfied with her new plan, if she had but the courage to implement it, she tossed the last crust of bread into the fire.

At least her brothers would be safe.

She stood, stretching her back and glancing around the tiny village. They’d arrived just as dark was falling, and the villagers, who had been warned by Sir Petyr that they’d be coming, had already cleared an area in a vacant field for them. They’d shared their wood, and their water from the communal well. In return, she’d helped a woman in childbirth, and Nicholas, with some of his men, had hunted. The villagers were too poor for fancy weaponry, and seemed in awe of the men’s armor.

Nicholas gifted them with fresh meat.

Her husband. Nicholas. Lord Nicholas Le Blanc. He was fascinating, but unpredictable, and he’d been avoiding their tent all night.

She tried, discreetly, to stretch her legs. The ride had been exhilarating, and a bit tiring—not that she would admit it. Celestia had always made it a point to keep up with her family, even if she had to work twice as hard.

Willy and Sir Geoffrey were laughing over mugs of ale, and she didn’t know any of the others. The villagers had all gone to bed, and Celestia sorely missed the company of her grandmother. Especially since Nicholas was ignoring her.

Gram said that she had to make him love her. She scoffed, walking around their party’s encampment. She lifted a hand to Stephan, Petyr, and Forrester, who were getting supplies from the back of the Montehue wagon, well, not the Montehue wagon anymore. It belonged to Nicholas, who’d stated that he preferred his own surname to that of his father.

Stubborn man, she thought with a surge of unwanted pride. The emotion brought to mind the heat that traveled between them like lightning, and she considered it might be desire; what if she acted upon that?

She was not schooled in the art of seduction. Her nerves bounced up from her belly to her throat at the idea. Nicholas was a handsome man, a worldly knight, who’d likely had scores of lovers. Would he find her innocence tedious?

It galled her to realize that she should have listened more closely to those damn minstrels and their inane tales of love.

Sending a prayer to Saint Agnes, the patron saint of betrothed couples, strengthened her resolve until she remembered, with a laugh, that darling Agnes was the patron saint of chastity, as well.

Mayhap I’ll have to resort to visiting the village wise woman for a simple love spell.
Me, a magical healer, and I can’t encourage my own husband’s affections.

“We’ve readied the tent, my lady.” Bess and Viola giggled as she came closer to the large green-and-white striped dome. Montehue colors.

Waiting outside, the two maids were fresh-faced and pretty. Bess, plump, and Viola thin. They’d flirted all day with the knights, and Celestia felt a pang of homesickness for her own sisters.

“Will you need us anymore tonight?” Bess asked, her full lips turned up at the corners.

“We will be right here, my lady, if ye do,” Viola said, gesturing toward the fire that Celestia had just left. Turning back, she realized that while she’d been sitting there, the other members of their party had gathered elsewhere. Now that she was gone, everyone mingled around the fire.

She exhaled, wondering at why such a small thing could hurt. When would she be accepted for who she was? Ever?

“I’ll be fine. Good night, girls.”

“We’ve left out some sweet wine, and bread with cheese.” Bess giggled.

“For if you get hungry, later.” Viola dipped her head and blushed.

Then they bobbed their heads in unison and dashed away, their eyes bright with anticipation.

Celestia decided to find Nicholas before she went to bed, but found her gaze returning to the tent again and again. What was she going to do? In order to free her brothers from the baron, she had to produce a child. She sighed. Even she knew that meant having sex with her husband, which didn’t require true affection.

She walked to where the horses were stabled and found Ceffyl, who was tied next to Brenin. The two seemed content. Celestia reached her hand out to the mare. “I haven’t anything for you, my sweet.”

Ceffyl neighed, as if in sympathy, and Celestia swallowed hard. Her anger at Nicholas seesawed with hope for a future, although his reaction to her healing ability, his rejection of her body on their wedding night, and his numerous other humiliations stuck in her throat.

She might not want his love, but she needed it in order to stay who she was.

Could she put on such an act that he wouldn’t see through her façade? She was a healer, not a storyteller, she thought with a shiver of apprehension. And Nicholas’s gray eyes were penetrating.

“Good night,” she whispered to the horses. “Wish me well.” They snuffled softly as she made her way to the tent she’d been avoiding.

Pushing the flap aside was hard to do.

The girls had outdone themselves, creating a bower of romance within the fabric walls. Plump pillows and colorful blankets beckoned. A flask of wine sat on the table, and even though she’d already had plenty to drink, she picked it up and took a large, soothing swallow.

Then she stood at the entrance of the tent, holding the flask and watching her husband from afar.

He stood so casually by the fire, yet she could tell he wasn’t at ease. Nicholas was tall, and darkly handsome. While her father had broader shoulders than her husband, Nicholas was trim about the waist and hips. The borrowed tunic flattered his physique. Petyr had called him a hero, back from the Crusades, and his injuries told the story of how beaten down he’d been—yet to live, how strong he must be. He was a knight, but he could read and write and he spoke of his youth at the monastery as if it were a haven. Who was Nicholas Le Blanc?

Warrior, or monk?

She huffed, feeling like a scavenger crow gathering what bits she could, since he wouldn’t tell her anything himself.

He turned then, and his strong profile was shadowed against the flames. Her blood heated, just looking at him. What had happened to him, to wound such a man?

Celestia had heard stories, not that she took much stock in rumors, but sometimes there was a grain of truth amongst the lies. Her father thought that King Richard was a brilliant strategist, but a butcher on foreign soil. He’d muttered something about King Philip and King Richard and the fall of Sodom, and then he’d issued a warning that the king’s own brother was not to be trusted. One of her father’s friends had laughingly pointed out that in the royal family, nobody could be trusted.

She had no patience for politics. War was a man’s game, and one she didn’t fully comprehend. What good could come of death and mutilation? She was a healer, and determined to fix what England had broken.

Nicholas reminded her of a caged panther. She’d seen one once, all sleek strength just waiting for a chance to escape its bonds. Or perhaps he was more like the falcon of his mother’s family. Strong, quick, and deadly.

Shivering, she vowed to do her best to make him love her. She’d be sweet of voice, quick of wit, and conscious of his comforts. She’d be … fortunate if she didn’t yell at the poor man for not washing his hands before a meal.

Nicholas still stood with the others around the fire, but away from them, too. It took a moment for Celestia to realize that even in his relaxed stance, he was guarding the camp.

Why couldn’t he trust the other knights?

Baron Peregrine’s men, now Nicholas’s men, were present, as was Sir Geoffrey. Nicholas said something, and they nodded. Stephan yawned and made a show of walking over to his sleeping roll near the fire. Viola giggled while she and Bess finished the last of the dishes, signifying the end of the evening. Two of the knights took their posts at opposite ends of the small camp, while the others readied for bed.

Nicholas’s gaze touched upon each of them, as if making certain that they’d do their job to protect the ones who slept. He turned toward their tent, met her stare, and then glanced away as if she was just another chore.

He had no plans for bed, she thought with a start. She’d noticed, while healing him, that Nicholas fought sleep. Mayhap that was when his inner demons came to torment him. Saint Cosmos help her; she could make him rest.

Celestia glanced around the tent until she found the tapestry bag that contained small vials of her most commonly needed herbs. She never went anywhere without it.

Letting the flap drop behind her, Celestia grabbed the bag, unrolled the top, and reached for the vial filled with pure opium powder. “Perfect,” she smiled, wanting to help him before he relapsed into fever. “He’ll relax, and mayhap let me close enough to touch him. Then,” her cheeks flushed as she imagined what might happen next. His lips to hers, his hands on her bare skin …

She swallowed, her fingers trembling as she took the vial and uncorked it. Taking a goblet from the low, square table, Celestia dropped a few grains inside. Just enough to make her husband get the rest he needed.

And if it made him amenable to sharing her pallet, then what of it? They were wed, and she needed to get with child even if Nicholas could never care for her.
But it felt wrong.

Love or no love, at least her brothers would be free. Her pride ached at the thought of being without the magical power in her hands, but Gram was right. She knew enough herbal lore that she could earn her way, and still help others. Her throat was sore with repressed emotion, so she poured wine into her own goblet and took a sip.

She wanted so badly to find a common thread between them, so that they might have a future to knit together. He could be shy when it came to women. Mayhap he had another love interest, or, she sipped at the sweet wine until her head swam, mayhap the Crusades had left him unmanned.

Oh heavens, she pressed her hand to her rolling stomach. The baron had demanded a healer and a wife for his only son. Which had to mean … pity rose to the surface like water. She’d seen him, all of him, and he hadn’t looked—but if there was something—something she hadn’t known about?

Sweet Jesu, and all the saints. The healer in her wanted to mend what was wrong, while the feminine side of her wanted to feel his lips upon her own and heal him in a way that only a woman could. She stared at the goblet.
Where had that thought come from?

Setting the wine on the table, she rolled up her bag and put it to the side, then she got up, determined to catch Nicholas’s eye. How could she get his attention? How could she ask her husband if he couldn’t perform as a man?

Suddenly the way he pulled away from her made perfect sense. His self-deprecation, the blackness and despair.

She smoothed her hair, then adjusted her tunic. Chewing a sprig of mint for fresh breath, Celestia faced the tent flap and told herself to charge out there and get her man.

Her slippered feet refused to budge.

It was just as well.

The flap flew open and Nicholas stood before her.

“Ah!” she shrieked, her hand to her throat.

He spun around, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked behind him. “Who’s there?”

“No, so sorry, oh,” Celestia cringed. “You startled me.”

Nicholas turned all the way ‘round, then let his hand fall away from the sword. “And you, me, my lady. I was worried that I’d walked into the wrong tent.”

Celestia’s knees were shaking so hard that she couldn’t move. She gathered her courage. “We have the only green-and-white tent.”

“‘Tis bigger than some of the villager’s homes.”

“I noticed that, as well.” Celestia could feel the hot color staining her cheeks as she watched Nicholas take in the tent’s interior.

His jaw muscle clenched, and she saw anew that the floor was piled with thick, sumptuous furs and large pillows. The low table was covered in a crimson cloth, stacked high with food and wine. Saint Mary Magdalene’s mercy, but it looked like she was planning a seduction.

Gulping her fear, and feeling especially penitent, she stepped in front of the intended wedding bed. She said in a high voice, “The girls, Viola and Bess, got carried away, my lord.”

“You had nothing to do with this?” His ebony brow quirked.

“Nay,” she answered, determined to get past her embarrassment and at least let her husband rest. “The bed is comfortable,” her tongue tripped over itself at the double entendre, “I mean, if you are tired?”

“Your face has turned the color of one of the roses in your garden. Please, don’t fret over what was done out of kindness.” He stepped farther into the tent, and the flap closed behind him. A fleeting expression of panic crossed his face, and Celestia wished again that she’d paid attention to the minstrel’s instructions on how to win a lover.

“There’s drink,” she said as she walked over to the table. She paused before pouring the sweet white wine into the goblet dusted with opium.

It was for his own good.

But she’d not seduce him while he was drugged. Celestia could not do so; it went against every moral she had. Her brothers would be saved another night, and it was more important that Nicholas get some sleep.

She would guard him herself.

The pressure to be someone she was not, namely, a seductress, fell away and she was able to stop her damnable shaking.

Turning, the goblet in her hand, she caught Nicholas staring at her backside. Her body immediately warmed, no matter her best intentions. She held the wine out to him until he reached forward and took it. Their fingers brushed, and the tingling returned. She recalled the sight of their joined hands during the wedding ceremony, and the feel of his lips against hers. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples tight and sensitive to the linen gown beneath her tunic.

The room swayed. Had she thought his gaze cold?