Old Magic (23 page)

“I need you to hold me,” she says softly. “All night, okay?”

I promise with my eyes ’cause I know my voice is unreliable right now.

“Promise you won’t let me go, Jarrod. Not for a second.”

Her words move me in a way I’ve never felt before. I lean over her, my hands on either side of her head, and kiss her mouth. “I promise,” I croak, meaning every word.

A distant squawk pierces the still night, but neither of us recognizes the sound as danger at first. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I register the noise, but it’s only when the demanding squawking sounds come from inside our tower room a few moments later that I understand. It’s the crow. Rhauk’s. Peering at us from the window ledge, making angry noises to get our attention.

I stare at this obtrusive intruder. “Kate, it’s Rhauk’s crow.”

Its head lowers slightly, tilting sideways as if listening to—and comprehending—our conversation.

“No,” Kate whispers, her lips trembling. “I don’t think . . .”

The crow moves closer. “Have you ever seen anything so large!”

Kate’s eyes never leave the massive crow. “The eyes . . . ,” she whispers.

The fire is almost out, so light in the tower room is dim, filled with flickering shadows, but nothing can disguise the crow’s eyes. For they are not crow’s eyes at all. But human. Too much like Rhauk’s. Black and cold.

Before either of us moves, the large crow with Rhauk’s knowing eyes lunges. I throw myself completely over Kate. The crow’s talons dig into my back, ripping my nightshirt to shreds in a vicious assault to move me. I try to shake it off, without shifting from Kate, but the bird beats at me with its sharp talons and flapping wings, all the while squawking and shrieking. My senses fill with its scent—birdlike, yet impassioned with human revenge. Blood oozes out of my back where its talons dig deeply. I hit at it with my elbows, back, head, kick at it with my heels. Anything to shake it off. This far up the tower I wonder if anyone can hear what’s going on and come to help.

A wind starts that soon becomes fierce. At first I think this wind is exactly what we need, but I soon realize it has no effect on the attacking bird. If anything, it seems to incite it.

Kate squirms beneath me, tries throwing her fists at the monstrous thing at my back. It grins at our attempts, seeing them as feeble, and starts intensely now, pecking with its pointed beak at an artery in my throat. It doesn’t once harm Kate, yet its purpose is clear. It’s trying to get to Kate.

Blood trickles from my throat, onto Kate’s white nightgown. She screams at the sight. “Jarrod, you’re bleeding!”

“I’m all right, don’t struggle. I won’t let it get to you.”

“It might want me, but it doesn’t mind killing you in the process. You have to do something!”

“What, for goodness’ sake?”

“Use your gift!”

“I don’t know how!”

Panic is not going to help. I jerk my arm and shoulder trying to dislodge the thing off my back, the hole in my neck now spurting out blood. The crow lifts momentarily, giving me a much needed second to breathe, but then it dives, catches me under my shoulder and in one powerful thrust, knocks me to the ground.

In my heart I realize that I’ve lost this battle. That I’ve lost Kate. The massive crow takes my place over Kate. I throw my body’s weight at it, trying to wrench it off, but nothing works. It’s like the bird is made of steel and I am made of feathers. Kate screams, and the sound resounds in my skull like the echo of a thousand chimes clanging together. The wind increases, becomes cyclonic. Hissing, it works against me, pushing me back. I have to fight through it to get to them. The crow’s wings spread wide and embrace Kate, covering her. Like steel braces, the crow’s wings close completely around Kate’s body and lift her. The crow hovers for just a second over the bed, its black eyes locking with mine, gloating. Then it moves in a graceful motion, through a north-facing window, Kate tucked neatly within its wings.

Although it should be too awkward and cumbersome, the crow flies like this, with Kate trapped inside its incredible wings. I race to the window, reaching out to the escaping bird, lunging until I half fall out. For a second I have her feet, but they slip through my fingers. Kate’s screams recede as the crow flies in the direction of Blacklands.

My head falls back, a feeling of utter despair pulses through me. The door smashes open. Richard with Isabel, the young maid, Morgana, Malcolm, Thomas, and Emmeline burst through all in stages of undress, demanding to know what is going on. They heard Kate’s screams, tried to climb the tower’s spiral staircase, but hundreds of bats attacked them on the way, stalling them, Isabel explains.

It’s Rhauk’s magic, I realize. “He took Kate—Katherine,” I finally breathe, dropping to the bed, depleted. There is so much blood smeared over my back, neck, and chest, it’s difficult to tell from where exactly it is coming.

“How could this happen?” Isabel cries. “We doubled the watch tonight, with extra guards posted around the bailey.”

Weak with loss of blood, I sway toward the floor, grab the bedpost, and lean my head against it. “He was the crow.”

“Then it is true,” Richard hisses, crossing himself, his eyes shifting in the direction of Blacklands, looking dazed. “For many years we knew of his evil and trickery.” His focus comes back to me. “That night he kidnapped your mother, Lionel said it was a crow. Black, with Rhauk’s eyes. None of us believed him, just thought Lionel had temporarily lost his wits.” He shakes his head wearily. “What sort of brother am I? I should have given my body and soul to protect them. And now my nephew follows the same fate.”

I shake my head at the man, unable to share his pain of guilt. My own thoughts are with Kate. Her fate, at the hands of a dangerous madman.

Morgana comes to me with a bowl of water and bits of rag. She takes a piece, dips it in the water, and attempts to wipe away some of the blood. I brush her away, unable to deal with anything other than the pain she can’t get to. Inside. “How can I think of myself when Katherine is with Rhauk right now?”

“You have to let us treat your wounds, Jarrod,” some soothing female voice croons. Emmeline’s, I realize. “Morgana knows what to do. She’s the best healer in the highlands. And you can’t tackle Rhauk if you bleed to death first. What good would you be to Katherine then? You’ll need all your strength to rescue her.”

The girl is right, even though her voice sounds really false. I suddenly recall the force of that wind. It’s gone now, so I concentrate, just like Kate said. It starts, slowly at first, but enough for me to finally understand—the wind is mine!

Some internal strength I can’t as yet pinpoint has created it.

I focus even more intently. In seconds the wind gathers in magnitude until it ravages the room with the force of a hurricane. Nothing remains of the bedding, tapestries rip to shreds, Morgana’s slight body flies across the room, bowls and ornaments thrash about. I really do have a gift! This recognition is unbelievable, strengthening my concentration, and the wind increases amazingly more.

“What’s happening!” Richard cries, grasping a bedpost tightly to stop from being tossed around the room like the others.

I’ll have to tell them eventually as I’ll need their help, but I don’t want to scare them. And I don’t have the tolerance or knowledge to explain things I’m not even sure about myself. I’ll have to think of a way that won’t alarm them. But there’s only one thought in my head right now. Getting Kate back.

I push through the wind to the north-facing window and stand before it. “I will bring her back!” I shout into the darkness.

I do this because I know Rhauk will be listening.

Kate

Even before I open my eyes I can tell it’s morning as the sun is bright, though weak with the chill of late autumn. There is a strong taste of salt in the air, the sound of crashing waves loud in my head. If only last night had been a dream—a nightmare. I could live with that. But as I force my eyes to reluctantly open, I see I’m not in the tower at Thorntyne Keep and Jarrod is nowhere to be seen.

Of course it wasn’t a dream. Who was I kidding? Scratches from last night’s battle with the crow are raised and red on the skin of my arm and on one side of my face. There’s blood on the front of my nightgown. Jarrod’s.

The room is quite beautiful really. The bed is covered in white satin. There are deep blue drapes at the windows, a wall-size tapestry of a hunting scene—horses, hounds, and a black knight in full mail riding proudly on the back of a massive black stallion. It almost covers the entire opposite stone wall. There is a square of carpet on the floor beside a magnificent four-poster bed and a matching table with stool beneath the vivid tapestry. A ceramic washing bowl and urn adorn the table top.

I run to the window to see if there is any way I can climb down or jump. But it’s a straight drop, about three stories high, over a jagged cliff face. The ocean, deep blue-green, smashes against sharp rocks below.

I sense Rhauk. The perception deep in my stomach scares me. Why am I so aware of him like this? Instinctively I understand that he knows I’ve woken and that he too is aware of me. Shivers break across my skin that have nothing to do with the fact that I’m only wearing a nightgown on a chilly autumn morning.

I spin around at the sound of his footsteps on the smooth timber floor. He has two pewter chalices in his hands. He sips from one, a drop of ruby red liquid hangs for a moment on his bottom lip, the other he extends to me, his voice sickeningly smug. “A celebration.”

Frowning, puzzled, I cross my arms over my chest. “Go to hell.”

His eyebrows lift as he draws near enough so that I can accept his offer of wine, and smell his pungent breath. “Not without you, my dear.”

Air forces itself out of my lungs; his determination is so steely. For a flash of a second I recall the pigman and his not-so-warm greeting on finding out Jarrod was a relative of Lord Richard’s. Pretending acceptance, I take the pewter chalice, draw in a mouthful of Rhauk’s sweet red wine, and spit it back in his face.

For a flash of a second Rhauk looks surprised and angry. I think he’s going to hit me, which doesn’t particularly worry me at this moment. I’m so worked up I’ll just hit him straight back, where it hurts, as hard as I can.

But he doesn’t react predictably at all. Instead he laughs, deep from his chest, pulls out a square of black satin from his tunic, and wipes his face without shaking the smirk. “We will make a formidable pair, you and I, my Lady.”

“I want no part of your schemes. I won’t stay at Blacklands. Whatever you do to me, I’ll find a way to deceive you.”

“No doubt you would.”

For a second his acknowledgment throws me. Is he acceding defeat? I doubt it. Obviously he has something devious planned. He walks across the room, places his pewter chalice on the table, studies the ceramic urn with such concentration you would think it was a photograph of his mother, then his penetrating eyes slide sideways. “There is only one way that Jarrod will stop me from generating my very clever curse.”

Skeptical, I agree to listen. “Go on.”

“It’s simple really. A small swap.”

Dread tightens the air passages to my lungs. “What sort of swap?”

A cunning smile forms slowly on his determined face. “You, for the curse.”

“No.”

“A little more thought on it, I think, my pretty.”

“I don’t have to think about it. And don’t call me that.”

He scoffs, amused. “I will call you whatever I want. You have no say in it. You belong to me now.”

He moves closer, runs an ice-cold finger down the side of my face. I yank my head backward. “Stay away from me.”

“Oh I will, for now. You see, I will have to get over my disappointment. At first sight, I swore you were a virgin. Just like my Eloise was.”

I force myself not to react, not to break his illusion. Rhauk has superior senses, but must never find out Jarrod and I are not really married, nor even lovers. “So, now you know the truth, why do you still want me? Why not some innocent girl from the village?”

“That’s simple, my lady. I’ve had plenty of those and they bore me. But you, now that I’ve had a taste of your talents, take on new meaning for me. You will make the perfect Queen for Blacklands.”

He unnerves me completely. “How-how-how long will I have to stay with you?”

His smirk is an ugly grin. “I don’t take you for being naive, Lady Kate. This curse is for eternity. I only want you for the rest of your life.” His black eyes bore into mine. “Sounds fair, don’t you think?”

I snort loudly. “What if I don’t agree?”

He shrugs. “Oh well, Jarrod will die.”

I can hardly breathe. My chest is aching. How I hate this man. He doesn’t just represent evil, he is evil. Maybe the rumors about him are true, and the devil’s blood does run in his veins.

“He will come for you,” he continues smugly. “It will be in the form of a challenge. Already he’s been making a nuisance of himself outside the gatehouse. But he is too weak, physically, and well, you know . . . in his mind.”

“Jarrod was here?”

He looks bored. “He soon understood his pathetic attempts were useless. Not without something stronger than a handful of soldiers. His magic is unknown to his will, unexercised by his mind. His inexperience will be his downfall. That is, if he cares for you enough to make a challenge—one-on-one. Of course, there is always his delightful cousin to amuse him.”

He means Emmeline. Rhauk is still playing his games. I try to ignore this comment by staying silent.

His hand sneaks out and grabs my chin. “A challenge is the only way he can draw me out of my castle.” His fingers are like icy claws. “If you accept my offer, my lady, this boy who plays at being a man is free to return home, unharmed. He is a nuisance. I don’t want him here. But of course he can only leave without you.”

The pewter chalice in my fingers shakes as tremors wash through me. I clutch the goblet with both hands. Rhauk’s fingers drop so I can reply. “How do I know you won’t generate this curse whether I stay or not?”

“You’ll be here to make sure of it.”