Love's Magic (23 page)

Celestia didn’t recognize her own voice as she cried, “You are my husband—I will regret nothing.”

He clasped her chin and brought his face so close she had to close her eyes or lose focus. His breath was warm as he whispered against her cheek, “I don’t deserve such a gift, and how can I explain to you that you will regret even those words by morning’s dawn? You make me want to be a man you could be proud of, but I cannot guarantee for how long that noble dream will last. I made a vow, at first it was in desperation, aye, but it was a pledge I will honor. I will kill the baron for his role in the ambush and bring his heart to Saint James. I will beg the saint for the cleansing of my soul by offering the real culprit behind the ambush.
Earthly justice
.”

Celestia gasped.

“Before I murder the lying sod, I will take care of your family; your brothers will be safe. I will send them here. You can have this place, or go home, I care not.” Nicholas shut his eyes. “God knows that man owes me more than this. Damn him.”

Seeing that he believed everything he said, Celestia knew that she’d not sway his mind by pleading. She straightened her arms and lifted her chin.

“If you cannot see the goodness that surrounds you and revel in it, then I cannot open your eyes. I will say this one last thing—you are not beyond redemption, Nicholas, no matter what you have done. I could not love an evil man.”

She watched with sadness as he moved away from her. She had severed the tenuous cord that bound them with her declaration.

“Love? And I thought you an intelligent woman.”

She couldn’t hurt any more if he’d run her heart through with a sword. Sticking her chin farther in the air, she flared her nostrils to keep those tears from falling. She would, by Saint Agnes, survive.

She winced as he slammed the door.

Nicholas slept. He’d not meant to give in to sleep, but honor would not let him leave Celestia until Falcon Keep was safe. She couldn’t love him—he didn’t deserve it. Dreams of the fires of hell were so real he could feel the lick of flame against his cheek and smell the odor of burning wood.

What was burning? He forced his eyes open and sat up, sniffing the air like a hound before the chase. No scent. A dream. Where had the fire been? His heart raced beneath his undershirt.

The danger still felt real. A cough alerted him that he was no longer alone. The mocking noise also told him who it was.

“Yes, Petyr?”

“I find it most odd that a man of your station is so comfortable sleeping in a mound of hay.”

“Station? I am a bastard, and bastards are always completely happy in the stables.”

“I beg to disagree, my lord. You are not and have never been a bastard in any way, except perhaps, in temperament.”

“One day, Petyr, you will speak to me with respect, but I won’t hold my breath.”

Petyr snorted. “I was patrolling the eastern fence when I heard shouting. It was you, of course. Alas, you awoke before I could throw this bucket of water on you.”

Nicholas eyed the pail swinging from the knight’s fingers with alarm. “I believe I know you well enough to say that you would have enjoyed dousing me.”

“You misread me. Now that I can see that you are all right, would you like to go back to your screaming—er, dreaming? I assume that your nightly terrors are the reason you aren’t safe and snuggled abed in your newly cleaned chambers? Did my lady have the good sense to kick you out so that you didn’t disturb her rest?”

Nicholas lazily stretched, then shot to his feet for the axe that had been set in the corner. “I wonder about you, Petyr. How well do you serve my father?”

Petyr stood his ground; in fact, he laughed and set the bucket down before crossing his arms and leaning against the wooden frame of a stall.

“Oh, you shouldn’t be worried about me. I am loyal to a fault. If I were a worrying man, then I would choose something else to concern myself with. Like, for example, sleeping through the night.”

Nicholas dropped the axe on its head, his hand comfortable around the wooden handle. “No doubt my father wanted to get rid of you, and foisted you on me as another of his sick gifts.”

Petyr kicked the pail. “No doubt.”

“Tell me of the baron, then. Do you know why he sent me to Jerusalem?”

“Aye, to guard the sacred relic of Saint James the Apostle. You were to give it to King Richard in the Holy Land so that he could have yet another good-luck charm and win the Crusade.”

“And when he heard that the relic had been lost to the infidels?”

Petyr tugged on his golden mustache. “Hmm, that was rather odd. He laughed.”

Nicholas grew cold. “And when he heard that I was being held for ransom?”

The knight’s shoulders flexed. “We had heard that you were dead, along with the rest of your men. I did not know that you were the baron’s son until that very night when your father drank too deeply of his burgundy. ‘Twas most strange, for he went on and on about a curse. That mayhap with you dead, the curse would end.”

“I have heard too much in the past day about curses.

So, he wished me dead?”

Petyr looked uncomfortable, but he proved his loyalty to his new overlord. “It was a sennight after that he lost his two toddling boys and wife to a pestilence in the castle. He was furious. He ranted and raved for months, saying that now he had no heir at all, thanks to the bloody curse. But I could never find out what curse it was that he meant. Your father is normally most closemouthed, my lord.”

Nicholas exhaled and struggled to sort through the tangled weave of his emotions. His father, who had gone to great trouble to arrange his marriage with a healer, had first wanted him dead. What had changed?

“Petyr, did he ever talk about my mother? Why did he leave her in this castle all alone?”

“I don’t know, Nicholas. He was not one for confidences, and I only came up in rank after he sent his other men to Jerusalem with you. Methinks he carries many secrets close to his chest.”

Nicholas realized that he could not hold off on seeing the baron for long—who knew when the man would decide he was better off dead, again?

“I think, Nicholas, you should settle in here at your home with your lovely wife. Forget the man who sired you. You are your own man, and perhaps better for it.”

Nicholas frowned at Petyr. “You are always filled with advice, but this time I will thank you to stay out of my affairs instead of punching you. Tell me where I can find my father. A visit is long overdue. I will need a sharp sword to pierce the man’s black heart—what is one more murder to me?”

Petyr opened his mouth as if to argue, but they were interrupted by a piercing scream of terror. Nicholas pushed Petyr out of the way, knocking him into the bucket of water. Celestia needed him.

Celestia had never been so glad to see the dawn. She had alternated between praying and yelling all night, determined that one way or another, God would hear what she had to say. She had called for the blessings of all the saints she could think of, and thanks to cantankerous Father Harold, she could think of many. She was tired in mind and body.

She knelt at the oriel, the broken bay window was spiderwebbed with cracks, and peered out at the courtyard below. She tried to imagine what Nicholas’s life had been like as a child. When the courtyard would have been humming with activities and not deserted. She had a view of the north tower; its base of ashlar building stones seemed solid. Dirt, or soot, licked up the tower’s exterior, and Celestia added a good washing to her list of chores. No exterior stairs were visible.

Why had the entrance from inside the keep to the tower been boarded over with thick planks and then mortared?

What had Joseph meant last night at dinner about screams in the tower?

Celestia rubbed her arms as a sudden chill swept through the room. She hadn’t felt any spirits or ghosts. Her lack of sleep was making her nervous and edgy.

A wailing scream of pure terror resounded through the keep’s thick walls. Celestia jumped to her feet, ran out of the room and down the stairs before the sound subsided. Viola saw her and screamed again. Her maid’s cap was sideways on her head, and she was pointing down at the moat.

Celestia’s first concern was Nicholas. Had he foolishly tried to leave during the night and drowned in that noxious pool of poison? Her vision of the moat returned, and she could taste the foul water at the back of her throat.

She ran to Viola, desperate for news. Keeping her voice calm, she asked, “What is it? Let me see.”

Viola fell to her knees at the entrance. “‘Tis Bess. She’s in the moat!”

Celestia was out the door and down to the berm in a flash. The small mound of earth betwixt the keep and the moat was spongy and rotten, but she didn’t pay it any heed. She dropped to her knees and grabbed Bess by the leg to pull her out of the stinking water. The body was heavy, and her hands slipped, sending her closer to the edge. She took a deep breath and tried again.

She protested weakly as she was gently moved aside. “Let me, Celestia. How long has she been here?”

“I don’t know, Nicholas. I just heard Viola’s scream. She’s dead, Nicholas, she was facedown in the …” she swallowed bile, “in the water.”

Celestia’s stomach heaved as Nicholas pulled Bess out of the moat; it wasn’t water, but thick—her belly protested—like vomit.

Nicholas flipped Bess over and Celestia backed away, then leaned back in, her illness momentarily pushed aside. The maid’s apron was tied about her neck; her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and her eyes were wide open, locked forever in fear.

She turned to the side and retched. Nicholas handed her a clean handkerchief.

“She’s been murdered,” he said, as if he had to hear it for himself.

“I can see that!”

“What shall we say to the others?”

Celestia pointed to Petyr, who was standing behind Nicholas. “Ask him. I can’t think … I just need a moment.” She was a healer for a reason; death was not her strong suit. But murder? Who would kill Bess?

Petyr pointed to the knights above. “They can see everything from there, and your voice carries. They already know.”

Nicholas exhaled. “Celestia, gather everyone in the hall. Petyr, will you help me carry Bess around to the back? We will give her a quick burial.”

“Nay!” Celestia put her hand on Nicholas’s arm. “I will bathe her first. The others will want to see her.”
She’d been so friendly, so pretty, so flirtatious.
Mayhap that had been the issue. A jealous suitor?

Nicholas must have heard the edge in her voice. “What are you thinking?”

Celestia shrugged off his hand, and wished she were better at lying. “‘Tis nothing, my lord. I simply want to do the proper thing.”

She ignored his shrewd look.

“Fine. Follow us, then.” He called to Bertram, “Can you gather everyone together in the main room? We will be in shortly.”

Celestia’s hands were shaking by the time they had laid Bess out in the shed. The doors were open, so she had plenty of light. “You don’t need to stay,” she told the men.

Petyr left, but Nicholas remained. “What are you looking for?”

Celestia sighed; she knew how sensitive her husband was, especially to
this.
“Bess was a pretty young woman. She has on no shoes, nor stockings. I am going to see if she, er, had, well … Hmm.” Her cheeks flamed. “You know.”

Nicholas glanced toward the door where Petyr was standing and then back. He whispered, “You think she had a lover?”

Exasperated, Celestia tapped him on the sleeve. “Nay. Bess was a flirt, but a very good girl, as well.” She plunged in. “I am looking for evidence of rape, my lord.”

“Rape?” His queasy face immediately flushed with anger. “You think one of these men would resort to such brutality? I’ll not look away from such a despicable act.”

Celestia bravely touched her bare fingers to his smooth wrists. “I know.”

He calmed beneath her touch, and Celestia was reassured that her healing powers were not gone yet. While she still had them, she still had time to make him love her.

“Now,” she said, “would you at least turn your head, so that I can do this? I swear to Saint Edward that most newly wedded couples talk about nice things.” Seeing Nicholas’s blank look she suggested, “Dancing, meals … a family. Not curses and death.”