Love's Magic (16 page)

Within the blink of an eye, he accepted his feelings, and rejected what they meant. Nicholas knew he was the last man on earth to deserve a chance at such happiness. He would see to it that she was as content as she could be. He would make certain that she had all he could give before he left her forever.

His heart was so heavy he was surprised that Brenin could carry him. A short while later, Celestia shouted, “I see it!” She turned in her saddle. “Do you, Nicholas? Over there.”

He had been too busy thinking of ways to tell Celestia good-bye to see the keep. But as he followed where her finger pointed, he saw a tall tower emerge from the clouds and a brief flash of sunlight sparkled over the moat.

The very dark, very disgusting, green moat. As they rode closer, a foul smell wafted through on a breeze.

They grouped together on the edge of the pasture that had grown wild around them, with weeds as tall as his knees. The knights, the women, and the wagon.

He didn’t want to go on.

He noticed Celestia touching something at her chest.

“It feels wrong,” she whispered under her breath, edging her mare closer to Nicholas and Brenin. She faced him, her eyes filled with concern. “Don’t you sense it?”

Forrester’s glance was sharp as he shielded his brow with his hand. “Aye, that it does.”

Nicholas did feel it, but he couldn’t admit to it. He accepted the weight of responsibility and turned to the others. “Nonsense. I’ll ride ahead, and let them know we’ve arrived.”

He waved Bertram toward the wagon, and the man answered with a clipped nod, casually moving his horse, while readying his sword.

“Keep the wagon there, Sir Geoffrey. Petyr, Forrester, and I will go ahead to scout the area. I’m sure we will be back anon, but be cautious just the same.” He stared at his wife as he spoke the last words.

He didn’t think to tell Celestia to stay put, so the fact that she followed them was more than likely his own fault.

When he’d opened his mouth to tell her to go back, she’d sent him a look that simply said she was not going to listen to his order. She withdrew her bow; her arrows were already slung across Ceffyl’s saddle. Nicholas gave her a blank stare, then turned away.

What would he do if anything happened to her? Her face was set, but she didn’t complain as they silently cantered toward a keep that was not at all prepared to welcome its new mistress.

He looked over his shoulder, and saw that Sir Bertram and Sir Geoffrey were prepared to defend themselves and the wagon.

Slowly the four of them approached the drawbridge, which was down, for all the good it did. It was gouged with holes and missing pieces of lumber.

The moat gurgled with green algae and noxious wildlife. The stench burned his nostrils, and still Celestia didn’t complain.

Her face was pinched with concentration, and she stayed at his back “Will we take the horses across?” Petyr asked Nicholas deferentially.

Nicholas continued in his role as leader, even though he was a fraud. “Nay, leave the horses. We will tether them here, where the others can watch them.”

They all glanced at the wagon, which had come suspiciously closer as the four had gone forward. Nicholas waved them back.

“They should be here by the time we come out again,” he said dryly.

He held out his hand to Celestia, helping her dismount while she kept her bow in one hand and the quiver of arrows at her back. She could have done it herself, more than likely. But Nicholas simply wanted to touch her.

Skin to skin.

Just in case.

She was wearing gloves.

Chapter
Nine

C
ome. Be quiet, and stay aware.” Nicholas’s terse warning was all he offered in the way of a plan. Celestia found herself singularly unimpressed.

Danger. Had this been the danger hinted at in the vision, or was this some new danger for which she was completely unprepared? Nicholas led the way, his dark face set and stoic, his steps light and sure. Petyr was directly behind him. Celestia, wanting to be as close to Nicholas as possible, resented the blond knight’s placement, but bit her tongue.

Forrester tailed her, his feet following hers exactly, as they made their way across the rotted boards of the drawbridge. Celestia swallowed convulsively as a piece of wood splashed into the green ooze and a pair of snapping jaws emerged. Giant fish? Eel? Monster?

Whispering a prayer to Saint Kathryn for courage—quickly adding that she had no desire to be a virgin martyr herself—she shivered and kept on.

Nicholas paused by the stone doorway and held a finger to his lips. Reaching around Petyr, he held out his other hand for Celestia. She grasped his fingers, anticipating the spark of warmth as their hands touched, secure in knowing that Nicholas would keep her safe. Even if he didn’t really want to, his noble nature demanded it.

She kept her eyes open, determined to not be yet another obligation for Nicholas. Her knees shook as they entered the dark and abandoned front hall; being brave all the time was wearing on her nerves. She’d make an infusion of cowslip, and add extra oats to her diet. Forget being brave, mayhap it was being
wed
that was causing her upset.

Petyr was so close behind her she could feel his warm breath. Her head grew dizzy and a chill started at the nape of her neck. Now was most definitely not the time for a vision, she thought sternly.

Really.

Celestia gripped Nicholas’s hand tighter as they entered the main room. The dreary weather kept the sun away, and what light did manage to break free from behind the clouds was not near strong enough to brighten the interior of the keep.

Dust motes caught the occasional puff of breeze through the slitted windows, none of which held any glass. Her husband’s body stiffened, and Celestia’s heart cracked anew at the pain he was feeling. This was Nicholas’s childhood home, and it was a disaster.

Tables were overturned and broken; dog feces and mouse droppings littered the floor. Everything was decayed. Celestia’s sorrow was overwhelming. Nicholas’s emotions ran the gamut from disappointment, to sadness, to fear. It didn’t matter how much it hurt her to accept his feelings, she would not release his grip. His face gave away nothing, but he squeezed her hand.

Like thieves instead of the rightful owners of the keep, the four stayed close to the thick stone walls and tiptoed through the debris. They said nothing, as if they all sensed that they weren’t alone.

Celestia peeked up at Nicholas as they paused near another room, possibly the kitchens. His outward expression hadn’t changed, and she worried that he showed no visible emotion. He was a master, it seemed, of hiding how he felt. She sensed that the key to healing his inner turmoil lay with what happened in Tripoli.

Nicholas pointed down a hall, and Celestia noticed a stairway leading up. Thinking that he wanted her to go that way, she stepped forward, accidentally kicking a brittle joint bone across the filthy floor.

Her heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes felt ready to pop from her head. She glanced at the knights, and both Petyr and Forrester looked wary, but Nicholas—he simply held a finger to his lips, and pulled her back behind him.

No enemy came pouring from the upstairs or the kitchens or the cellar.

“Mayhap nobody’s here,” Petyr whispered.

Celestia didn’t believe that, and all she had to do was remember the attack on the wagon to stay on her toes. Ghosts didn’t shoot arrows at innocents. Bad people did.

Using his shoulder, Nicholas pushed open a door that hung on one leather hinge, his sword drawn and held before him in his left hand, his right hand still clasped in Celestia’s grip. Cupboards, open and bare, and herbs so dried that if she touched them they’d turn to dust.
The kitchen.
Light from the jagged, open roof poured down onto the large pine table, as if all the angels in heaven were illuminating the atrocity below.

Two knights, dressed in blue tunics with gold edging, lay pinned as if bug specimens. Arrows with white feathers pinioned their arms, while their feet had been tied tightly to the table legs.

Flies buzzed over their sightless eyes and open mouths, and Celestia’s stomach rolled in protest that such cruelty could be done apurpose. She’d no desire to touch the men, as they were beyond whatever healing she could do.

“Don’t look,” Nicholas warned in a scruffy voice.

She averted her gaze from the grisly sight. Forrester coughed, and Petyr gasped in rage.

“They’ve been tortured.” Nicholas released her hand, and Celestia almost fell. She hadn’t realized how much she’d relied on his strength.

“Oliver de Montry and John Gains.” Petyr cleared his throat. “They were good men, Nicholas. If you had secrets to be kept, they would not have given them away.”

Nicholas turned his anger on Petyr, and Celestia backed up, too. “Aye, but I have none. So why would anyone do this?” He took great gulping breaths of air, fighting for that control he prized so dearly.

She must have made some silly feminine sound, because suddenly his gaze locked with hers. The night she’d woken him from his demonic dreams his eyes had been like this—despair so deep it was unfathomable. Beyond frightened, Celestia reached out, scared to touch Nicholas even though he needed her desperately. He backed away, into the dead men on the table. An arrow dropped to the floor, clattering against the stone.

For the blink of an eye, the look on his face was so vulnerable that it stole her very breath. She inhaled, getting nothing, no air, and her vision blurred. Bringing both hands to her neck, she massaged her throat to coax the airway open, but she only became more light-headed and nauseous.

She couldn’t break eye contact, and everything Nicholas was feeling came at her tenfold.

“My lady!” Petyr caught her as her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, overcome with her failure. Her husband’s pain and buried rage was too much for her to carry.

“Celestia.” Nicholas shook his head, clearing it so that he could damn well think. He’d heard Celestia’s small mew of distress just as she’d started to collapse, but he’d been powerless to catch her.

Petyr had, thank all the saints, before she banged her head against the stones. Nicholas took her from Petyr’s outstretched arms. “We can’t stay here,” he said, dashing from the foul kitchen before he lost his mind.

What was left of it.

Holding her to his chest, listening to her struggle for air, Nicholas begged for another chance to do right. He retraced his steps across the drawbridge without hesitation, certain that if he could just get her away from the crumbling pile of rock, she’d be fine again.

Her head lolled to the side, and her lids fluttered. He hit the rocky dirt running, and called for help.

“She can’t breathe, get her medicine bag, hurry!”

As he’d predicted, the wagon was parked to the side of the uncleared field, a few wagon-lengths away from the keep. He sank to his knees in the grass, Celestia still balanced in his arms.

Please,
he thought.

His heart pounded madly in his chest as he caressed her silken blond hair. Her lashes lay like feathers along her pale cheeks, and he ran his finger over her lips. “Come back to me, ‘Tia.”

“That place is not fit for an animal; I say we burn it to the ground.” Forrester’s voice was shaking with anger.

Nicholas couldn’t spare the time to calm the young knight. He rocked Celestia gently until Bess brought a blanket and spread it out over the grass.

“Here, my lord. ‘Tis smooth, you can set her down, Viola’s getting her herbs.”

“Do you know what’s wrong?”Nicholas asked.

Sir Geoffrey said, “We don’t know what happened, my lord.”

Petyr explained, while Nicholas eyed the blanket. He didn’t want to let Celestia go. “They had tortured two of the baron’s knights, and left the bodies for us to find. My lady fainted.”

Bess puffed out her plump cheeks. “Lady Celestia fainted? Nay, I don’t believe it.”

Viola felt for Celestia’s pulse. “Steady and strong. Mayhap it was the unexpected death? She’s sensitive, she is, to things like that.”

“Blood and pus, now, that don’t get to her none.” Bess looked around at them all, nodding. “Our lady is no weak little miss. What really happened in there?”

“Aye,” Sir Geoffrey growled menacingly. “Tell us the truth, what happened to our lady?”

“That was the truth. The keep is deserted, and filthy.” Nicholas bowed his head, resting his forehead to Celestia’s. He never should have let her follow him. “She’s strong, aye.”

“Even I wanted ta puke,” Forrester insisted. “But it was something between my lord and lady, that’s what made her fall.”

Nicholas raised his head. “What?”

“You, and her, you have a connection. ‘Tis obvious, being married and all. I didn’t understand what was happening, but it was like she could see inside your head.”

“Witch,” Bertram mumbled.

Viola jumped to her feet from where she’d been kneeling next to Nicholas and Celestia. “Take that back, you stupid sod, else I’ll run you through,” she threatened.

“With what?” Bertram laughed uneasily.

Sir Geoffrey stood next to Viola, his hand over the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do it, love,” he said. “I’ll not let anybody speak of our lady like that.”

Nicholas spoke so that all would hear. “My wife is no witch, and she is still out cold. Bertram, mind your tongue and apologize to the lady’s retainers, and to me.”

Would he? Nicholas watched the man carefully. Someone had been sabotaging their journey, and just possibly it was one of “his” own men.

“My apologies,” Sir Bertram bowed stiffly.

Viola and Sir Geoffrey stood down, and the tension refocused on Celestia. Forrester had taken off his cloak for an added blanket, and Petyr had bundled his own for use as a pillow.

Nicholas had no choice but to release her, which he did, as if she were precious porcelain from Asia. Why had he not thought to shield her from such a sight? And if it was true, and she’d seen inside his head, no wonder she’d fainted. Seeing those men tortured had catapulted him back to his time as a prisoner.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ll never be good for you, will I?” What remained of his soul was too dark, too black, for one so full of light. For certes, Saint James would be hard-pressed to be kind to him, even if he brought him the baron, piece by piece, on an offering of gold. The sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle was gone.

This was no place for a lady of breeding, but he had no place else to go. His plan to leave immediately for Peregrine Castle was moot. He could not, in good conscience, leave her here among the haunted ruins of his childhood.

Forced into a position of leadership, he took a deep breath and sought to change that which he could hold on to. Souls and hearts and mysterious, intangible connections were more than he could handle.

“Petyr, we must bury those men, and Stephan, too.” He swallowed a maniacal laugh. “I should have realized that this ‘gift’ from my father would be tainted. The ladies can’t sleep there, so we will have to make do with another evening outdoors.” He couldn’t even find a hard smile for the maids. “Just until we can find something habitable.”

“But—” Bess started to complain.

“We’ll do what needs to be done, my lord,” Viola cut in, rummaging through the vials in Celestia’s bag. “Susie fainted once, one of me friends, and,” she took the cork from various bottles and sniffed delicately. “I think my lady used,” Viola inhaled, “aye,” she scrunched her nose and nodded. “This is it. Turns out she was pregnant.” Viola blushed. “Susie, not my lady.”

Nicholas’s belly warmed at the immediate image of Celestia bearing his child, and he crushed the thought. “Now what?”

“A little pinch here, beneath each nostril, and we wait …”

The strong scents of ginger and black pepper made Nicholas’s eyes water, and apparently, the stink was enough to bring Celestia around.

“Ah, ah, ahcoooo!” Celestia sneezed, her upper body jerking forward so fast that Nicholas hadn’t time to get out of the way.

Her forehead thunked into his nose so hard he saw spots. She cried out, and he steadied her, grabbing her upper arms.

“You fainted,” he said.

“You’re bleeding,” she cried in alarm.

“You hit me.”

“Liar!” Her eyes flashed. “I would never do such a thing—unlike you, I keep my fists to myself.”

Everyone broke into relieved laughter, with Petyr’s being the loudest of all. His heart slowly returned to its normal beat, and Nicholas longed for nothing more than to hold her close again.

She became aware of their audience and flushed a brilliant red, even to the roots of her braided hair.