Love's Magic (7 page)

“Aye, dawn it shall be,” Nicholas agreed. Maybe sometime during the four-day journey he could get Petyr drunk and finally get some answers.

Celestia was the only one not cheering. Their eyes met, and it seemed as if she completely understood what he was feeling. They were being drawn tighter into a web they hadn’t spun, so strong that they couldn’t break free.

Forrester, Bertram, Willy, Stephan, and Henry all gathered round. “Hip hip, hooray! Three cheers for our new lord!”

Nicholas smiled, as he was expected to do. Sweet Jesu, he even gave a speech as gallant as any he’d ever heard before. And while he thought to argue with Petyr’s announcement, he realized that it mattered not. The sooner they left, the sooner he could force Baron Peregrine to atone for all he’d done.

He placed another brick of blame at his
father’s
absent feet.

Celestia watched her husband make his way through the throng of people. He did not push, or shove, and yet a path cleared for him as he stalked toward her. The scowl etched onto his face did not scare her, as she assumed was his intent. Saint Blessed Mary’s virtue, but the fierce expression made her blood race and her thighs tremble.

She’d not felt the like before, and the feelings were as exhilarating as riding bareback into a rainstorm.

Mulberry wine had soothed her nerves, leaving her languid and giggly. Most assuredly, she was not in the mood to be a lady. Born to run a house, she’d learned the basics, as her interest had lain in medicine and not accounts. She was the most gifted healer of her generation, and so allowances were made. She hadn’t had a chance to explain her abilities yet to Nicholas. Mayhap this evening.

Her lips tingled as she remembered the pressure of his mouth against hers. It was only the second amorous kiss she’d ever received, and it hadn’t been the sloppy wet mess Lord Riddleton had bestowed on her, when he’d unwittingly caught her in the stables alone. The chance meeting had changed her mind about marriage entirely.

Shaking off the humiliating memories, she tilted her chin as Nicholas approached. She thought she saw a touch of panic in his gaze, but when she blinked, it was gone. The look had been replaced by a studious coldness that stopped her mouth from wanting.

“We must talk.”

“Yes.” She bowed her head.

“Is it true that you have two wagons packed for the journey?”

That was the problem?
“Aye.”

“It will slow us down, and make us a bigger target for thieves. I’ve not the men to defend a caravan. I will not have it!”

His anger surprised her, and she looked up. His gray eyes were black with emotion, and she backed up a step.

“I know you said to bring only the essentials, but I need two wagons.”

He said nothing, just winged a dark brow upward. Celestia caught a glimpse of desperation in his stance as he crossed his arms. “Those things such as linen sheets do not just make themselves, my
lord
,” she emphasized. “Nor do the pots and pans simply appear, or food stuffs—my infirmary alone will take an entire wagon, and I won’t leave without it. What if the herbs I need don’t grow where we are going?” Hoping she sounded reasonable, she reached to put her fingers on his arm, still avoiding his bare skin.

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and a thrill settled over her as he stared down. She squealed when he grasped her by the waist and set her up on a stone half wall, so that they were nose to nose.

“We are married, aye?” His deep voice rumbled through her body, and she found herself barely able to nod an affirmative. His fingers stayed at her waist, and Celestia imagined them so hot they might burn through her dress.

Her breath quickened.

His eyes dilated in the moonlight.

Would he change his mind about abstaining? Yes, she thought, parting her lips the merest bit. Then she shook her head, clearing it of all carnal thoughts. Pushing his arms away from her body, she jumped to the grass below. “We are married, ‘tis true, but we desire an annulment, remember?”

Nicholas tightened his jaw. “I remember well. The sooner we leave here, the sooner we get to the border.”

Celestia was grateful for the dark evening, hoping it hid her embarrassment. Of course he’d only wanted to hurry their journey along so that he could get on with his real life’s goal. Spain. A life where she’d be left in ruin because he refused to even try to love her.

“I’ve studied a map of the area, and it looks as if once we arrive at Falcon’s Keep, Peregrine Castle is but a day or two away. I’ll go.”

He was going to leave her there, at the keep? Alone?

“My brothers are at the castle. I shall ride with you, then,” she stated, not wanting to admit her fear of being abandoned with strangers. People did not always judge her kindly at first.

“My journey requires but me, besides the servants will need to get to know their new mistress. It will not take me long. I promise to look after your brothers.” His dark eyes were hiding something, but Celestia had no idea what. The man had more secrets than the forest had trees.

“The servants will not need to know me, not if you get the annulment granted. Then I can return home.”

“Then you will not need to pack over-much. Why must you argue?”

“Why must you boss me? I know my own mind! And Nicholas, you are not well enough to travel a week on the rainy roads.” Without thinking, she reached out to grab his wrist. “It could be dangerous, and you could relapse, then you’ll be sorry I didn’t have my herb—”

As her hand clasped his scarred skin, her fingers received a chill so cold her teeth immediately started to chatter.

She saw the concern on Nicholas’s face, but she was unable to speak. An odd sense of disembodiment caused her to sway first to the left and then the right. She’d had some wine, but she wasn’t drunk. No, no, she thought with a groan. Another vision so soon? Why had she touched his bare scars, knowing that his pain affected her so strongly?

It seemed as if Nicholas’s voice came from far away as she sank to the grassy ground in a swoon. Fog and ghostly murmurs swirled through her consciousness, and it was as if she was being warned away from Nicholas.

Warned away from Falcon Keep.

Or was she being drawn toward it?

“Celestia, what’s wrong?” The sound of Nicholas’s worry made her struggle toward awareness, but it was impossible to shrug off the icy touch of the otherworld.

It was rare to be visited by spirits—it hadn’t happened since her grandfather had passed on a few years ago. She had not been afraid, not of him, and when she’d told her family the next morning that Grandfather had died but sent a message of love for them all, her odd announcement had been accepted as fact.

Her grandmother had bowed her head in prayer, asking God to let the old badger into His heavenly home, then cried buckets of tears. The message confirming his death came a sennight later.

This
was not the warm spiritual embrace of her grandfather. This was frightening and strange, and she felt as if she should be listening for some sort of message. Which was made more difficult with everybody around her talking so loudly.

She blocked them while opening her mind to accept a glimpse of her future, whatever it might be. With Mary Magdalene’s courage bolstering her own, Celestia reached for the clouded image, searching for answers. The journey ahead would be difficult, but she couldn’t get a clear vision of why. Damn fog, she thought irritably. It was not natural.

The tantalizing scent of apples calmed her, but then suddenly, out of the murky edges of her subconscious, she visualized an arrow shooting forth from the woods. It whistled as it catapulted through the thick air, setting Celestia’s nerves on alert. Oh, no, she thought, turning in slow movements, realizing that she could be too late as the white feathered arrow flew straight for Nicholas’s heart.

The shaft was already covered in blood.

Terrorized by the vision from which she could not run, Celestia opened her mouth and screamed with all her might.

When she came to, she found herself bundled in Nicholas’s arms and he was rocking her to and fro, whispering soothing nonsense into her uncovered hair.

Leaning her cheek against his fast-beating heart, she realized that his tunic was soaked with her tears. What must he think of her?

“Perhaps you could tell the baron that I am mad? ‘Tis a good reason to grant an annulment,” she whispered against his muscled chest.

“This is no time for jesting,” he answered hoarsely. “What happened to you? You sounded so afraid, and you were calling my name.”

Her sister Ela piped up, “I told ye she was having a vision. Ye should not have touched her.”

“Vision?” Nicholas released her as if she had a contagious disease, and Celestia tumbled to the grass. She felt his instant fear of her, and her heart broke. The connection between them was gone; he most likely thought her possessed or some such nonsense.

Sir Petyr quipped, “Tame her fast, my lord, afore she faints again!”

The crowd laughed good-naturedly, whispering excuses for her behavior, such as too much to drink or a bride’s nerves. Celestia drew herself up and brushed the pieces of grass off of her gown with impatient strokes, not daring to look at Nicholas. She’d worked so hard to gain the respect of her people. ‘Twas always difficult to let strangers get to know her and understand that she was not such a freak after all.

She scrubbed her cheeks with her palms, feeling her grandmother’s hand at her back.

“Not to worry,” Nicholas said in such a stone-cold tone that Celestia’s stomach knotted and she knew what he was going to say before the words ever left his lips.

“My lady will have plenty of time to rest, as I am leaving her here when we journey in the morn.”

Heart cracking into tiny shards, Celestia admired him for his misplaced sense of honor. So what if he thought her crazy?

Mayhap she was.

She only knew that she could not let Nicholas travel without her. Even if it meant giving up her healing gifts, she could not let him go alone.

Summoning the last of her bravery, she put her hand on her hip and accused like a seasoned fish-wife, “You don’t get your way, my lord, and already you think to leave me behind?” She clucked her tongue loudly and turned to face her parents and the rest of the spellbound group. “He expects me to leave without my herbs and, and …” the tears that came were not so forced after all, but greatly gained her the sympathy she needed to play this off. “And he says I cannot take my own horse!”

The expression on Nicholas’s face would have been worth remembering, if only she hadn’t been so damnably worried that he would die before learning to love her.

Chapter
Four

T
he last servant finally left the chamber, and Nicholas’s shoulders eased. “I was afraid your father was going to gut me before he took his leave,” he said, staring at the closed door.

Celestia, dressed in a silk gown so sheer he could see the outline of her skin, laughed nervously. Candles cast a warm and cozy light; mulled wine spiced the air and shadows from the small flames in the fireplace chased one another on the tapestry-covered stone walls. Nicholas had the sense he was dreaming; the sort of dream that exuded goodwill, just before the jerk of the hangman’s noose.

“Would you care for some wine?” Celestia offered him a silver goblet; she was as tempting as Eve must have been with the apple.

“Nay. We leave early in the morn, and I would be clearheaded.” He wanted to know what had happened out there, if she’d really seen something, or if he’d just been duped into marriage with a crazy woman. The entire manor could be laughing at him. Was she really a—?

“I am not a witch,” she said firmly.

“Do you often have these,” he scratched the back of his neck, “visions?”

Celestia sipped before answering, as if weighing her words. “No. And Saint Paul knows that I am not good at receiving them. Sometimes they are clear, and sometimes,” she paused to take another drink, “they are not.”

“You invoke the Saint of Truth,” he huffed. Nicholas had seen enough of the world to understand there were things that were not understandable. His Truth was that he’d lived in hell, and had not once heard from God or Satan, or any of the damn saints. “The vision tonight, it involved me?” He would know if she was playing him for a fool.

“Aye.” She shifted uncomfortably, perched at the edge of the bed. “But it was not right.”

“You called my name.” He paced forward, challenging her words. He would believe, if there was but proof. “What did you see?”

She bit her lower lip, and he could tell that she lied. “Nothing, it was mostly just a sense of danger, a warning, mayhap?”

Disgusted, he folded his arms across his chest. “Why play this game? Do you want people to think you a witch? That you have magic in your fingertips … for fame? Coin? Why?”

“You are shouting,” she said as she put her goblet on the small side table, and he swore he heard hurt in her voice.

He slowly lowered his arms. “Fine. Explain to me what happened this evening.”

“I cannot.” She pulled at the neck of her gown. Was she too warm?

“Stubborn wench, how can I trust you when you lie?”
It was definitely hot in the chamber.

“Baring my soul to you, sir, will gain me nothing but misery.” She stood, and Nicholas took an involuntary step back. There was something about her that made his mouth dry and his palms damp.

“What does that mean?”
What made women lie as if it were naught?

“Only that you will not like, nor believe, what you hear. I have worked very hard to make a place for myself here, in my own home.”

“‘Tis your parent’s home, my lady, and your place in it is different now.” He narrowed his eyes, wondering at the heightened tension between them. She stirred him. It was as if someone was fanning the flames of desire for the sole purpose of it burning wild, and out of control.

God’s bones, but the sight of her standing up to him ignited his blood more thoroughly than any drug ever had. Heat coiled through his lower belly.

Her eyes widened and she swallowed, her breaths coming faster beneath his stare. “We agreed to an annulment,” she said on a ragged whisper.

“I know.” But he couldn’t think of all the reasons they should
not
be together; instead he stared pointedly, envisioning the kiss they’d shared that afternoon. The pull of lust alluring for the first time in a long while, he thought of all the ways he could teach her to kiss him, to hold him. She flicked her pink tongue over her full lower lip, her eyelids heavy. He was aware that she had no idea how heavenly she looked. The heat between them ratcheted another notch until he could stand it no more.

“Angel”
Nicholas reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to him until her mouth was beneath his. He kissed her as if his life depended on it, and if she did not return his passion he would fall into a spineless puddle at her tiny feet.

His surprise was great when he felt the push of her warm tongue against his lips. Her hands rubbed the sleeves of his tunic, as if she would strip him of it. Up, down, the fabric slid against his flesh until the heat of her fingers bumped against the ropy scars on his wrists.

A zing so hot it felt cold made him pull back, and she cried out, as if in agony.

“What?” Nicholas panted. “What was that? What is the matter with you? You’ve seen my scars, I thought that you didn’t mind them, I …”

“It hurt,” she said, her face pale, her eyes without the familiar sparkle.

“It didn’t.” The realization of what she’d said came slow.

“It was hot, dark, you were hurting terribly.”

Nicholas’s desire ebbed, but the intense feeling was replaced by fear. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes filled with tears that sparkled like gems upon her lashes. “You were hurting. You were being made to feel the highest level of pain, on purpose. I’m sorry, I am so sorry, Nicholas.” Tears tracked down her cheeks.

Horrified, Nicholas lashed out, “You know nothing about my life, pain or otherwise.” His basic instinct was to protect himself, and his secrets. He put his hands out, symbolically pushing her away. “Close the neck of your gown. If you want to act the whore, I am happy to oblige, my lady. But if you wish to return to this house as pure as when you left it, then I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

The blood drained from her face as he insulted her over again. “Or we can consummate this farce of a wedding, and I can leave you at Falcon Keep. God knows, I’ll not stay there! You can take as many lovers as you like after I’m gone.”

“What? Why are you saying these things?”

His energy depleted as fast as it had spiked, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Stop crying, your tears will get you nothing. I will sleep in front of the door. No one will come in.”

She dried her eyes, but refused to adjust her gown. Her shoulders were proudly set. “My heart is breaking for you. Can you not trust me?”

“You’ve already lied to me once!”

“I didn’t lie, exactly. I saved your life.”

Cold spread through his body. “And I’ve saved yours. We shall see who made the better bargain.”

One small gasp escaped before she covered her mouth with her fingertips. “You can be cruel. Is that where the darkness comes from?”

“I’ll not talk more about it. Sleep, and in the morning we will pretend this never happened.”

“I am not tired,” she said stubbornly.

Nicholas exhaled, then picked a pastry from the platter. The idea of taking a bite made his stomach turn. He didn’t want to hurt her, and he would, if she stayed with him. “I don’t want you to come with me.” She would ruin everything. She made him want to live, and he had to be prepared to die. It was not his first choice, but a man needed to look at all the options.

“You are not leaving me behind, Nicholas.”

He saw that she was serious, and he remembered that she had a stake in this game, too. He’d saved her from being burned as a witch, but the baron still held the lives of her brothers. “No wagons, then. I am in a hurry.”

“No wagons?” She bit her lip. “One wagon. I will take my book of recipes, and my kitchen plate. And my clothing, simple as it is.”

“We will have no cause for anything fancy,” he yielded.

“And here I thought you would take me to see the king,” she retorted in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

His temper faded a little more at her show of spirit.

“Lucky for you, sir, that I’ve never desired to go to court. My plain gowns serve me well.”

Nicholas had noticed that she wore little in the way of adornment, other than the bells on her shoes. Since the wedding had been the only occasion needed for something more stylish, and since he was wearing her father’s tunics because he had no clothes of his own, he hadn’t felt in a position to judge. “One wagon.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Nicholas, about that kiss …”

Closing his eyes, Nicholas knew he would remember both kisses for the rest of his life. They’d been so good he dare not have another. “We are getting an annulment.” He opened his eyes, walked in front of her, and made certain she was listening. “We will follow through on the plan, and we will each get what we want.”

“My brothers will not be freed until I have a baby.” She looked up at him with trust. How could she? She was blindly placing faith in him, and he didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t worry.”

“That is easy for you to say, you are hiding something. You can trust me, Nicholas.”

He heard the plea for an olive branch in her tone, but he couldn’t give it. If she betrayed him, it would mean his death. His death had a purpose if his soul was ever to be his again.

“Can we try to be friends, at the very least?”

Sighing, Nicholas shook his head. “Caring for you is dangerous to me.”

He was surprised when she laughed out loud. “Really? You are not the only one who is risking everything.”

“I want to believe,” Nicholas cleared his throat but the lump remained. “But there is nothing. Get some sleep, Celestia.”

“I will keep your secrets.”

His stomach tightened at her breathy promise. Another woman had made lying promises, and he couldn’t take the chance. Celestia solemnly pulled back the coverlet on the bed. “There is no need to sleep on the floor. I understand that you do not want me.”

Not want her? Christ, Jesu. His eyes dropped to the pink buds of her breasts beneath her gown and the way her loose golden hair curled over the curves of her hips. She was the epitome of womanhood, and so beautiful he ached. He gulped and looked away before he did something stupid. Like lunge across the bed and truly claim her.

His voice was raspy as he changed the subject entirely. “Petyr said that the Scottish rebels are creating havoc along the borders. The baron probably thinks a show of colors will suffice to make them stay clear of the keep.”

She didn’t appear to hold a grudge as she stood by the bed. “Ah! That does make sense. By sending you he sends a warrior as well as his son, who has a rightful claim on the property.” Celestia faced him, unaware that a long tendril of silky hair cupped around a full breast. The sheer gown teased the senses. The heat rose in the room as they gazed at one another until Nicholas ground his back teeth and paced the floor.
Witch.
If there was anything magical, it had to be the instant desire between them. Ancient chemistry, male calling to female.

Keeping his eyes on anything but his bride, Nicholas talked as a distraction. “The baron probably thinks I’ll be grateful for his interference in my life. He doesn’t know me.” He pushed up the sleeves of his tunic, which were scratching at the irritated skin on his wrists. “The bastard has much to answer for.”

“And Petyr, will you give him a chance to prove his loyalty to you?”

Nicholas stopped before the fire, his eyes on the dancing flames. Putting together a story when one had only torn pages was difficult, but he’d finally gotten Petyr to admit that he’d never worked for Abbot Crispin, and that he’d always been Baron Peregrine’s man, until now. The betrayal of his mentor burned, and he absently rubbed the scar at the base of his throat. “I trust no one.”

A waft of oranges and cinnamon warned him that Celestia was at his back. He remained unyielding as he felt her hand at his shoulder. She slid around so that she could see his face, and he made sure to keep his expression neutral. “Try me,” she said in earnest. “I’ll not betray you.”

“You would be the very last person I would ever trust.” He held her gaze until her smile faded. It hurt him to see the wounded look in her eyes.
She is innocent,
his heart cried. But in his head, he knew there was no such thing, and he had to protect himself. “Go to sleep.”

Celestia dipped her head before returning to the raised bed. Climbing in, she sat against the headboard, making a commotion, smoothing the blankets around her waist. Nicholas felt the pulse beat at the base of his neck as he waited to see what she would do.

Opening her mouth as if she might argue, again, she paused and then shrugged. “You must do what you think is right. Will you sleep? I could make you a—”

“I want nothing, my lady.” His chest tightened at the lie, and he placed a chair in front of the slowly dying fire. “Our secret will be safe, until we are ready to make our move.” He sat, compelled to listen to the soft rustlings Celestia made as she got comfortable. It felt like he was spying, since he’d never slept in the same room with a lady before. Leah, though female, was definitely not a lady, and what they’d done together didn’t involve sleep.

His stomach churned, and he banished the dark memories to the back of his head. Thinking of that evil woman in the same breath as Celestia was sacrilege.

He waited until he heard her even breathing before taking a fur rug and stretching out, as he’d promised, in front of the door. Dozing fitfully, controlling his wayward thoughts, he passed the night through.

At the first hint of dawn coming from the tiny slats of the window shutters, Nicholas got up. He couldn’t help peeking at Celestia as she slept. Her delicate beauty drew him like a moth to flame, and he stared at her pink lips, lightly turned down at the corners. What might it be like to have the love of an angel?

He was turning into a sop, he thought angrily. Nicholas gave the bedpost a shake. “Get up,” he ordered gruffly. “And don’t forget to play along.”

Celestia’s eyes flew open, and he saw the bewilderment there. While they were different colors, and they certainly beguiled, he didn’t think them evil. His sense of righteousness nagged him for his display of foul temper.

None of this was her fault. The baron thought nothing of ruining people’s lives, and the attitude ran through to his men. Petyr had been dismissive of the baron’s refusal to honor the Montehue’s marriage dispensation, laughing that when Lord Robert had made the request twenty years ago, he hadn’t had daughters that the baron needed.