Old Magic (19 page)

A sudden chill hits every one of my senses. The thought of sleeping in this room now gives me the creeps. I withdraw from Isabel’s head, but the fearful sensations remain, too strong to subside.

Jarrod

Lord Richard insists on showing us around the keep, which takes the rest of a very short afternoon. It’s amazing seeing how many people live inside the castle walls. There are cottages along the inside, with soldiers on guard on the ramparts, while servants and retainers, workmen like the blacksmith, their families, even priests, all hurry around, going about their business. There are animals too—pigs, dogs, hens.

Kate is loving every moment, though I must remember to call her Katherine. She is in absolute awe.

We have dinner in the Great Hall. There is so much smoke from the central fire I’m glad I’ve never been asthmatic. How do people live in these conditions? The fire is necessary, otherwise the Hall, the whole castle in fact, would be cold and drafty. But there’s nowhere for the smoke to go. There are windows high up on another level, narrow arched slits really, without glass, but the smoke takes forever to get up there.

Kate and I are seated at a long table on a slightly raised timber platform. Everyone that lives or works in the castle is here dining together, but the soldiers and servants sit at makeshift tables farther down the hall. Our food is served on thick slabs of stale dark bread. There are wooden knives and spoons, no forks, but everyone is eating with their fingers. Kate almost gags at the sight of all the food, especially when a whole pig’s head is proudly placed before us. I’m sure Kate feels like spewing. The only thing that’s saving her is her empty stomach.

Most of the food is salted meats. There’s an eel pie, some spicy sauces, and more heavy dark bread. There’s no water, but plenty of red wine. Unfortunately it’s really coarse stuff. Not that I’m a connoisseur or anything, but I’ve had it a couple of times at home. Dad drinks it a bit to help him sleep. This stuff is really harsh. The most I can do is sip it to ease my thirst. And I can’t eat much either, my stomach simply refuses. Kate nibbles on some spiced apple and that’s about all. To avoid insulting Lord Richard we both complain of severe exhaustion from our travels, explaining we suffered from a mild dose of food poisoning on the roads.

It’s funny really, I wouldn’t say these people are gullible, but they swallow our stories without question. They’re keen to hear every detail we can recall of our journey. I guess they really hang out for news from travelers. They wouldn’t get many up here. We’re careful, though, not to say too much. Kate is better at it. I leave most of the conversation to her.

She tells them how we lost all our belongings in London, including our horses. This explains why we arrived on foot, with only the soiled clothes we’re wearing.

“I was there last spring,” Richard easily agrees, nodding, his eyes wide. The wine, I realize by his rosy cheeks, has started to kick in. “’Tis a city riddled with beggars and thieves.”

This thought has me remembering the woman called Edwina, who he is about to toss into the streets simply because she lost her husband and can’t work his fields anymore. Lord Richard is proving quite contradictory. He can’t have been more welcoming to us, whom he believes are family, yet to his peasants he’s cruel and unjust.

Dinner ends and Isabel grabs a lighted flashlight out of a wall bracket, ordering two girls to have hot baths waiting for us in the tower room. I start thinking ahead. It looks as if Kate and I are going to be sharing a room, probably with one bed and not much else. My body is tingling with the thought of sharing a proper bed with Kate. My palms are sweating so much I have to wipe them down the side of my grubby tunic.

We follow Isabel up a dark spiral staircase that never seems to end. Finally, at the very top of the tower, we arrive at a single room. By day I imagine it would be well-lit, as there are actual windows on both sides, but the sun disappeared a long while back, and an icy chill has set in.

Before Isabel leaves she orders the maids to see to the fire and rushlights, and arrange suitable clothes for us. The baths are already half filled, with hot buckets arriving every few minutes.

The maids get the fire going and light the rushlights and some candles, which give the room instant warmth and a soft, though smoky, glow. Kate is standing by one of the tall arched windows, looking north. I come up beside her and see that she is looking across at the castle on the northern peak, silhouetted against the darkness by a single glowing light from one of its tallest towers.

“Who lives there?” she asks one of the maids, the one Isabel introduced as our own personal servant, Morgana. The other, a little older and thicker set, is Glenys.

Morgana, who’s placing another rushlight in a wall bracket, goes very still, her young face clouding over worriedly. “His name is Rhauk, my lady. His castle is called Blacklands.”

She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell what Kate is doing to Morgana. Kate picked up on Morgana’s fear and is now probing the poor young girl’s mind, picking her brain for emotions. I hope she doesn’t go too far, as we have to be careful. But probing minds is second nature to Kate. I doubt she could ever live without it.

“Why are you afraid of this man called Rhauk?”

Morgana goes straight over to the huge four-poster bed, her long skirts swishing with every step. She pulls back the bedding and fluffs the pillows. “Everyone is, my lady. Even the lord.”

“Why?” Kate asks softly.

Morgana pauses, pillow in hand. When she looks up her eyes look glazed. “They say he is descended from the devil and that father and son talk often.”

“Do you believe these rumors?”

It’s the older girl, Glenys, that answers. “We know nothing, my lady. Naught has ever happened in our lifetimes. These are but childhood stories, exaggerated to make a wee child scared enough to go to bed.”

I smile at this, instantly liking Glenys’s sensible mind, and glance at Kate. She doesn’t pursue the subject, yet I can see she’s still disturbed.

The last steaming buckets fill the two wooden tubs that sit side by side in the middle of the room. Morgana finishes laying out our night clothes, long white gowns, across the bed. Glenys taps the rim of the nearest steaming bath. “I’ll see to your soiled clothes after Morgana helps you with your baths.”

She means for us to take off our clothes. Now. And step into the baths. Immediately Morgana starts working the buttons at the back of Kate’s dress. Kate jerks uncomfortably aside, and catches my eye. It’s apparent the maids intend staying while Kate and I bathe simultaneously.

I quietly observe Kate’s eyes. I don’t need any so-called gift to feel her discomfort. Her wide-eyed look urges me to say something, but honestly, I don’t mind the idea at all, and it’s amusing watching Kate look uneasy for a change. I watch a hot blush spread across her pale skin, darkening it. The hard part is trying not to laugh.

“Jarrod!” Kate hisses between clenched teeth. She can tell I’m enjoying myself and she’s totally unimpressed. “Do something!”

I shrug, and pull off my tunic.

She hisses. Really. Like a snake. I’m sure she’s thinking of some nasty spell to put me under.

It’s a relief to yank off the too tight muddy boots. Kate’s shoulders spring back.

“My lady,” says Morgana softly, picking up on Kate’s sudden change in temperament. “It would be easier if you allowed me to disrobe you.”

I have to hand it to her. Inhaling a long steadying breath, Kate drags an amazing smile to her face and says calmly, “Morgana, if you don’t mind, Jarrod and I will tend to our own baths.”

I’m sure Kate isn’t prepared for young Morgana’s outrage, or her steely determination. The young maid practically squeals and there’s real fear in her voice. “Oh no, my lady. We cannot leave you unattended. The lord, you see, he would beat us till our bones are skinless.”

From what I heard in the village I don’t doubt Morgana’s words for a second. And neither does Kate, but she hasn’t finished trying. She puts her arm around Morgana’s much smaller shoulders and leads her toward the door. “Now, don’t worry, either of you.” Her gaze includes the older Glenys. “I’ll assure Lord Richard personally what wonderful servants you were, tending to all our needs. You have my word.”

Morgana glances at Glenys, looking for advice. But Glenys is shaking her head. “You don’t know the lord, my lady. If he found out you had no one to tend to your bath, it’ll be our hides that bear the brunt of his anger.”

Kate’s tolerance collapses. It’s the closest I’ve seen her come to pure panic. She must be exhausted, I know I am. And even though it’s amusing to see her squirm, I decide not to stand by and watch her lose it completely and risk our plans because of this small hiccup. So I try a different angle with the maids. “Glenys,” I start, for she’s obviously the one who makes the decisions. “The reason my lady is so close to tanning your hides herself, is that she likes to attend to my bath personally . . . and, well, privately.” I smile, find Kate’s eyes, which have grown huge, and add, “We are newly married, after all.”

Morgana has the grace to blush profusely, giggling behind her hand. Glenys just huffs stubbornly, but does at last agree to leave, promising to return at a suitable time to put out the lights and collect our soiled clothes.

They leave and Kate spins on me. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

I laugh and toss her the rough towel. “Allow me to be your chivalrous knight. You go first.”

She stares at me for a long moment, waiting.

“What?”

She begins waving at me. I get the message and turn around. When I hear water splash onto the floor I turn back. She is submerged all the way to her chin. Her hand goes straight to the amulet that is now floating in water. I understand the gesture, having felt for mine several times during the day. It’s our link home, something we have to protect, no matter what.

While Kate bathes I examine the wildness of the ocean through the open window. Waves pound into solid rock far below. It reminds me of the time we lived at a beach-side caravan park on the south coast of New South Wales. Dad had a friend who ran a fishing business, and who gave him a job on his trawler. You couldn’t see the ocean from where our rented van was, but the sound at night was all you heard. Mom was pregnant with Casey, and Dad was away every night. But the job lasted only a couple of months as their catches were the worst on record and Dad’s friend had to sell the business.

Tonight there’s no moon, at least not yet, but I can still make out the foamy white tips like little sailboats rhythmically tacking to shore. The familiarity of sound, scent, even the taste of salt wafting up this high is somehow comforting. Finally Kate finishes her bath, dries herself, and gets into bed, running fingers through her hair.

“Your turn,” she says, doing up the last button of her gown right up to her throat.

I get behind the bath, which comes to about waist level and strip off. Kate has taken so long with her bath, my own bath water is barely tepid. Still, I enjoy it. Who knows when I’ll have the luxury of another. I don’t think these people bathe every day, probably less than once a month. There’s no soap, so I have to scrub hard at the caked-on mud.

I finish bathing and slide on the long white nightshirt. My limbs are sore and tired and the bed looks comfortable and very inviting, especially with Kate in it. This thought, after the incredible day, has my head spinning. And suddenly all that amused bravado I had shown earlier disappears on me. I wouldn’t mind being able to probe inside Kate’s head for a change, see, feel, exactly what she’s feeling. But I can’t do that, so I’m left guessing. My instincts tell me she wouldn’t mind if I tried to kiss her, but she’s acting so modestlike, I don’t know what to make of it.

It’s perfect timing, for as soon as I slip into bed, Glenys and Morgana return with two male servants. They take some time, but eventually empty the baths and remove them. The maids clear away our clothes, lay clean ones out on a wooden chest for us to wear in the morning. Just before they leave they stoke the fire and extinguish the rushlights.

Finally we’re alone. Completely. Especially considering the location of this specific room, isolated high up in the tower. I glance at Kate. She’s curled up as far on her side of the bed as possible without falling out. “Kate.”

“I’m going to sleep!” she snaps.

My jaw falls open. Hey, what does she think? That I’m going to . . . to . . . what? Try to . . . ?

Annoyed at her attitude, I roll far to the other side. Even though I’m sore and tired and mentally drained, sleep doesn’t come easily.

I can’t take my mind off Kate.

Kate

I don’t know what Jarrod can possibly think of me now. What an idiot. I find myself playing the terrified virgin maiden role. It’s not anything Jarrod’s done. It’s me. And where we are. In bed together! My feelings for Jarrod are pretty intense, but I don’t trust he can return these feelings. At least, not yet. So I’m wary of taking a major step toward intimacy. If we kissed or anything, would it stop there? I don’t quite trust myself, especially considering we’re alone up here, and well, living in circumstances where we’re actually playing a married couple. And here, now, in this time and place, it isn’t right.

Besides, I don’t want to end up a teenage single parent. My mother was, and couldn’t cope. What if I couldn’t either?

So I pretend to sleep, which doesn’t happen for a long time. I’m on edge anyway, sleeping in the tower where Lionel and his young bride, Eloise, once slept. Something sinister happened here, and I can feel a strange energy pulsing eerily from the dark castle called Blacklands. This pulse is like a slow heavy beat in my chest, totally synchronized with my heart. And I’m pretty sure no one else feels it. Jarrod surely doesn’t. And this freaks me out. Who lives there? Morgana said it was a man named Rhauk. Could he be the illegitimate half-brother with sorcerer powers?

Eventually I guess I do sleep. When I wake it’s early dawn. Hazily I realize what woke me—a loud squawking noise. I search for the sound and find a huge black crow sitting eerily on the windowsill, looking at Jarrod and me, curled up on opposite sides of the bed. I swear the bird is wearing a satisfied smirk on its face, its black beady eyes, almost humanlike, appear intelligent in a way a crow’s eyes never should.