Love's Magic (22 page)

His briefly closed his eyes. “You defend my actions, yet that is not all.”

Celestia took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but I felt what you felt, when I touched your wounds. I knew your pain as you were tortured, and sorely abused, poor Nicholas.” She’d pledged to stop her infernal crying, but he was hurting her fresh.

“God’s bones, ‘Tia.” He ground his back teeth together. “I’ve made a vow before God that I will do this thing—I must have answers, and those lie at the feet of Baron Peregrine.” His voice broke. “I don’t want to want you, but I do. And I know that by fulfilling my vow, I will hurt you. It cannot be avoided.”

He said so much, she thought, without making anything clear. He stood, obviously uncomfortable with baring his emotions. She took his hand, reveling in the warmth there, and pulled him down to sit beside her.

“Nicholas, you’ve been given a harsh lot in life; there is none who would deny it. There is good in this world, too. But would you push aside all that is good only to focus on the bad? You test yourself beyond endurance—your body requires sleep. Your mind needs the rest, and your soul, Nicholas, cries for peace. Let me help you. You won’t hurt me.”

She picked up his arm, remembering how she’d burned him. “I am afraid that it is I who will hurt you.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he once again rose to his feet. She followed his every movement, captivated by him. He removed his tunic, then rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt. He showed his wrist where she had touched him. “See? There is no mark.” He spoke slowly. “I am healed.”

No burn mark, thank Mary Magdalene for another miracle, she sighed with relief. “I’d worried that I’d left a scar, since you’ve kept your arms covered.”

“For this reason.” He showed his other wrist to her. “I didn’t want to answer questions, if anybody noticed.” His other wrist was still covered with scars.

Celestia felt her eyes widen as she realized what had happened—she wasn’t losing her gifts—instead, she’d healed an old wound, something she would have sworn upon Boadicea’s grave was impossible.

“From the manacles used to chain me to their damned walls,” Nicholas continued in a strangled voice. “I could hardly believe it, yet the old scars disappeared, right before my very eyes. I was chopping wood, and then you ran.”

Celestia caught her breath, then brought her finger to her lip. “I thought I had burnt you out of anger.” She lightly caressed the smooth skin on his wrist, overjoyed that the marks, and the pain, were gone. “Because of great grandmother’s curse.”

Nicholas gathered her hands in his and kissed the backs. “I’ve heard my father is cursed. Ye say your family is cursed. Joseph says the north tower is cursed.” He kissed the fingers on the right hand, and Celestia’s body responded with an acute awareness of the texture of his lips, of the warmth of each breath, of …

“I know of no curse, my lady. I say you have a powerful gift, indeed, if you can smooth old scars.”

Her stomach clenched as his lips brushed each sensitive pad on her left hand.

“I’m not a witch, Nicholas,” she said as she leaned over, dropping a soft kiss on the top of his head. He was still on his knees before her. His elbows leaned on either side of her body, and she leaned in, wanting to be closer to him … to the way he smelled, of pine trees and fresh air and hard work.

“I know. Though ye’ve bewitched me.”

He lifted his head, and his eyes were stormy gray and turbulent with desire. Heat shot from his gaze to hers, and her breathing became shallow gasps. Their eyes stayed locked to one another, and the air between them sizzled with need.

Only he could soothe her trembling heat.

“Then stay with me.”

“I cannot.”

“I want you, Nicholas.” She rubbed her hands over his shoulders, thrilling in the play of muscles beneath her fingers. She scooted to the edge of the mattress, parting her thighs so that Nicholas could come between them.

He did, inching closer a breath at a time.

His linen undershirt was open in a deep vee, and she dropped a kiss at the hollow of his throat. Images of Leah, and her knife at his throat, angered her, and she growled like a feral cat. She would do what she could to protect her man.

“She’s gone, Nicholas; let this memory be better than the old one.” She flicked her tongue against his skin, and he sucked in a breath.

He grabbed the back of her head, lifting her face as if he needed to study the truth of her yearning. “I made a pledge, to God and Saint James,” he pleaded with her to understand.

My noble man,
Celestia thought, catching the sob in her throat.

“We’re wed, and even though you must leave me, I would wait, Nicholas, for you to return.” She realized the truth in her words as soon as she spoke them.

He crushed her against him, and her cheek rested against the warmth of his broad chest. Hope blossomed in Celestia’s heart, and she rained kisses along his collarbone.

He kissed her forehead, her brow, the tip of her nose. “You’ve lovely hair. I’ve wanted to touch it since that first night I saw it down.” His breathing was fast and hot against her ear, and the air seemed to travel straight to her belly.

“I would have let you,” she whispered, unable to keep from pressing her lips to his. This was glorious, and no wonder the minstrels and troubadours sang of it, it was a wonder that people did anything else.
Love.

Her hands fisted in the loose linen cloth of his undershirt. “Would you think me too bold to say I want to take this off of you?”

Nicholas paused in his exploration of her back and neck and groaned. “‘Tia.”

“I want you, and I think you want me, too, aye? We’re married, and I would wait for you to come back from your quest to Spain. This can’t be wrong, Nicholas.”

She pulled at the shirt from the back, then tugged at the front, wanting to see him bare-chested. Even in the short time they’d been together, he’d filled out his once too-thin body.

“Here.” She pulled at the sleeve that covered the once-scarred wrist and then placed her lips against the healed skin. Then she took the other wrist, and her heart broke at the scars there.

Red, angry welts that looked painful. The manacles were gone, but the memories of why he had them still lingered, and would, for as long as they were there as a reminder.

She started to touch him, hovering her hand over the scars, faltering for a heartbeat as she waited for his consent. Dare she try again?

In a leap of trust, he nodded.

“I’m afraid, Nicholas.”

“Don’t be. I am ready, if you are willing.”

She took the trust he gave her as if it were more precious than all of her jewels combined.

Covering the irritated scars with her fingers, she set her mind free to focus on the injury. Once pinpointed, the warmth came slowly, from the center of her being, as she concentrated on absolving his pain.

The wound pulsed, crimson red. Bright, vibrant colors splashed in her mind as she worked over his wrist. Angry crimson, light burgundy, brownish-red, grayish-brown.

Celestia refused to give in to the weariness that drew her. Gram warned that to give in to that while healing would injure both her and the person she was working on.

Concentrating, she focused on the colors until rose and mauve appeared, and she was soothed by a healthy pink and light blue aura around the scarred area. She exhaled and released the negative toxins.

She had only begun to relinquish her grip both mentally and physically when suddenly she became bombarded with more pain—anguish for which she wasn’t prepared. She had no choice but to absorb it into her own body.

Black.

The deepest, darkest black she could fathom came at her in waves, crashing like fluttering bat wings against her weakened psyche.

Chapter
Twelve

N
icholas did not know what to expect as he watched Celestia close her eyes and place her slender fingers on his wrist. He was prepared for the burning sensation he had felt before when she handled his scars. He braced himself so that he wouldn’t move or pull away. He’d not scare her again.

This time, however, the feeling was different.

There was warmth, a pleasant heat that reminded him of the high summer sun when he’d ridden at the abbey, a time before he went on crusade. Celestia’s grip never tightened, but remained loose over his scars, which began to pulsate beneath her touch. Nicholas’s eyelids grew heavy, and he found he was tiring, even though he was doing none of the work. Rather, she was drawing out his injuries and pain with her personal energy.

He’d never imagined that his internal wounds had substance. When he’d given it thought, which wasn’t often since he was a warrior, by God’s bones, he thought the pain to be a figment of his mind.

Like a man who swore he could still feel the itch on a hand that had been lopped off in battle, he would feel the damning narcotic pull of opium in his blood.

And he raged for it.

He’d learned that the madness would come for him in his deepest sleep.

Did Celestia take the dark need into her healer’s body and break it apart, as if it never were? What if she was stealing his life force, as well? Nicholas did not move a muscle as she worked her magic. He made himself stay calm—he trusted
her.

He chose not to examine how that had come to pass.

Nicholas lost track of time, rousing as he realized her healing touch was cooling. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t remembered closing, and saw that the red, aching scars were gone.
Gone.
A smile flitted across Celestia’s face, and he could see that she was finished.

He opened his mouth to thank her, expecting her to release his arm, when all of a sudden she grasped his wrist in a rough hold. Her gaze met his, and he read the confusion on her face. She was trying to let go, and yet could not. Her fingers were fused to his skin.

Concerned, Nicholas tried prying her hand off of his arm, but it was bound tight. Celestia’s brow creased, her mouth twisted, and a warning moan came from the back of her throat.
Oof.
Nicholas jerked back—something, mayhap the same invisible something that bound the two of them together, had slammed into the middle of his chest. He gagged, choking on fragments of memories. Rats with pink eyes and scrawny bodies in his cell, lice in his hair, bugs in his food, and Leah … Leah, with her inky sloe eyes and sensuous body, plying him with opium and raping him to satisfy her own carnal desires and need for a dark-haired babe.

Every ugly thing in his past threatened to suffocate him. He coughed and fought against the images—he had escaped before—he would not let his foulness drown Celestia.

Summoning the remnants of his pride, he could think only of saving Celestia. He loosened her grip from his wrist and shouted, “No!”

She fell back onto the bed, her eyes wide open and unblinking, her mouth pursed as she battled confusion. Nicholas ran his hands through his hair, bitterness enfolding him once again. He’d been a fool to think he could move beyond his past. “I am sorry, so sorry. Sweet Jesu, ‘Tia, are you hurt?”

She sat up, her blond hair tumbling in disarray around her shoulders, her eyes wide.

“Nay, I am not hurt,” she said in a whisper. “But, Nicholas, you are. I have never felt such pain. You can’t keep it locked up inside you. ‘Tis a foul humor and it will poison you, surely as the opium once did.”

Nicholas backed away from her outstretched hand. “Never mention that again—do you hear?” He struggled against her empathy.

“I’m sorry, Nicholas, please, come to me.” Her pale face was drawn, her brilliant eyes shadowed.

It would be too easy to bury his hurt in her accepting body, her forgiving heart. But he’d not chance causing her more pain by giving in to her beseeching arms. He bowed his head and searched for the resolve to walk away, knowing it would be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. “That is none of your concern …” He flinched at the sudden anger in her gaze.

She deserved more than that.

Nicholas stalked over to the table holding the water and poured them each a cup. He handed one to Celestia, and swallowed his in a single gulp before pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

“I went on crusade, for God and king, like many other knights. We followed the codes of honor, and fought for our country—to win control of Jerusalem for the glory of God and Christianity. My duty was to protect the sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle. We had strict instructions to carry it directly to King Richard, who believed he needed a certain number of relics in order to win the war.”

The memories were still sharp, and he poured himself another goblet of water.

“My father sent it as a vassal price instead of going on crusade himself.” Nicholas briefly met her eyes and turned away from her compassion. “And me, his unclaimed son. I was also part of the price he paid, although I only knew it that night when Leah told me.” He couldn’t think of it, of the type of man who would send his only living son to death. Why?

Anger pounded in his temples. “I was not vigilant enough, and we were ambushed by the enemy. All were slaughtered, all but me. I had fought hard, as had my men, yet they lay dead and bleeding around me. The Saracen leader kept me for ransom.”

His voice shook, and he took a deep breath to keep it steady.
Sand, wind, blood, and gore. The loss of a holy relic that could have turned the tide for King Richard. And God.

Nicholas wet his dry mouth, but he couldn’t forget the blistering hot day of the attack, the screams of the horses, the blood from his slain comrades.

He looked at his wife, who was watching him with tenderness, damn her. He would spare her the gory details, except he had a feeling she’d already seen them.
His fault.

“I was held for a year, until I finally escaped.” He stomped across the carpeted floor of their chamber, wishing he could carve the image of dead Leah from his head. “I prayed, Celestia, with all my might. But the day of the slaughter, God stopped listening to me. He could not forgive me my foolishness, nor for losing a great relic to the infidels.” He pierced her with his gaze, expecting to see condemnation.

He saw none, and sought to make her understand the severity of his sins.

“I was raised in a monastery, I could write, I could reason—but I could not get God to answer my prayer for death.” Nicholas detested the ache in his chest. It was a weakness, and he pounded at it with his fist.

“I tried to bribe the guards for poison so that I could commit the sin of suicide. I gave up every shred of dignity, living, finally, for the visits from Leah and the opium she brought. I wanted to die, thinking it would be my fate to rot in that stinking, filth-infested cell. But their doctors knew how to keep me alive for eternity.”

He lowered his gaze, shame heavy on his back. “Then she told me her husband grew suspicious, and she had to kill me. I begged,” his voice tore as he remembered the bitter taste, “I begged her to ransom me.”

Nicholas tugged at his hair, agitated with painful memories. “That was when she told me that the man who hired her husband to ambush the caravan and steal back the relic was the same man whom I thought would send the ransom money.” Nicholas laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound.

“Yes, Celestia, why would
my father
want me back alive?”

“Nicholas, oh.” Celestia started to rise, but he waved her back. He couldn’t bear her touch just now, not when he was so bruised and barely hanging on to his sanity.

“I felt the prick of her blade against my throat.” He touched the scar that Celestia had blessed with her kiss.

“And I realized that I was not ready to die after all. She thought I was too far gone, but it’s amazing how fast nearly dying can bring a man back from the brink of ecstasy. My shame, Celestia, is that I knew it was wrong to lie with Leah, just as I knew it was wrong to forget about life with drugs—I knew this. My shame is that I did it anyway, and God forgive me, sometimes that joy was all that kept me going.”

Nicholas dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “I took the knife away from her, and I slid it into her neck as easy as a blade through butter. She’d left me unbound, which was
her
final mistake.”

He heard Celestia crying, but he couldn’t comfort her. He would tell the story this one time, and then never again. “I escaped. I ate scraps, and I’m sure I scared a few good folk, but there were some who helped me, too. Gave me clothing and water.”

He leaned all the way over, his forehead touching the floor as if praying to their God, Allah. “I made it to the monastery and the abbot, and the rest you know.”

Standing, he felt empty. Numb.

Deserted.

Celestia listened to Nicholas’s story with mounting horror. He was so strong, blessed be. She didn’t regret these tears she shed, for they weren’t weak, but shed on behalf of Nicholas’s pain. He’d not want to see her pity, and she knew it.

She could not hold back the love she felt, not when he needed it as he did. “You are a good man, Nicholas Le Blanc. Now I understand why you hate the baron so. I hate him, too.”

Nicholas looked up, the gray of his eyes so dark they were black.

“You survived, and I’m so glad that you did. Verily, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Do you hear me?”

She shuddered as his blank, black stare was turned on her. “I am a murderer. I have killed and I have slaughtered in return for what was done to me. Would that I could find that relic—but it’s gone.”

“Nay.” Celestia jumped from the bed. “Nay, you just said that Leah told you that the man who had hired them to steal
back
the relic wouldn’t pay your ransom—that means that the baron must have it!”

His olive complexion faded to white. “I said that?”

Celestia ran to where Nicholas was kneeling and helped him to his feet. “We need to see the baron immediately. I’ll go with you. There are so many questions to be answered, and he holds the key to them all. No more, Nicholas, until we find out what he’s really up to.” She’d been tugging on his arm with no effect.

“No.”

“What?” She stared at him and stomped her foot in frustration when she saw him clench his jaw. “No,
what?
”

“Stop jingling! You’ll not be going anywhere near the man. He’s dangerous, now you know how dangerous. What if I can’t protect you?”

She shook his arm, which was solid muscle. “You did not cause the ambush.” Celestia sensed that her words, and the inflection of them, would be most important. She spoke calmly, “You did not want your men to die.” She searched his face, hoping he could hear her.

His stare was so hot she feared she would melt like a ball of snow on the floor. He’d been raised in a monastery, raised with the theory that God’s wisdom ruled all. “Nicholas, mayhap God is the one who gave you the strength to survive your captivity.”

The look that flashed across his strong face broke her heart in two. She saw a flicker of hope before denial and despair settled on his stricken features.

“I was not strong, Celestia, I was weak in body and soul. And if that was a test of my faith, then I failed there, too.”

Celestia wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting to love him in any way she could. She kissed his chest, and reached up on tiptoe to kiss his mouth.

“Nay.” He pushed her away.

She understood that he couldn’t accept her compassion, yet he didn’t want her passion, either. Lowering her eyes, she walked to the edge of the bed. “Nicholas, please, please just come and sit down. I will watch over you as you sleep, and perhaps we can find an answer come dawn. Let me at least give you that, if you will take nothing else from me that I would freely give.”

Nicholas raised his hands in the air and strode across the floor with pounding steps. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

“Weren’t you listening? Nothing can help me now, and that includes you and your healing. I could have killed you with the sickness that lives in my soul, and you—you would take it in until you choked of it, too.”

“I care for you, Nicholas, that is why I would try!” Celestia stepped between him and the door, knowing that she might lose him forever.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she cried out at the depth of turbulent emotion in those gray eyes. Gray aura, gray seas—drowning …

She was startled as he dipped his head and caught her lips with his in a searing kiss that shook her to the core. Without a single reservation she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with all of the love in her heart.

If she couldn’t heal him with her hands, then mayhap she could touch him with her love. She knew even as he pulled away from her embrace that it wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

He unwound her arms and said, “I couldn’t resist … which is why I have to go. If I stay here with you, we will both regret it.”