Sorceress (47 page)

Her stomach growled. “I think we need to eat first.”

“Aye.” His gray eyes twinkled. “The lass appears to be hungry.”

The gatehouse was silent.

Outside in the bailey the sounds of the keep filtered in with the warm summer breeze: wheels creaking, axes chopping wood, looms clacking, chickens clucking, and people talking. But inside, silence yawned. The men—those awaiting duty and the dirty soldiers who had returned from their mission— stood facing Deverill, defiance in the sets of their chins, defeat in their eyes.

“So!” the Baron of Agendor said, barely able to keep his rage in check as he scowled at his men. “You have been gone for nearly six months and yet you come back here empty-handed, with no prisoner and no horse? Is this what you’re telling me?”

One man coughed.

Another looked away.

But Aaron, much thinner than when he left upon his mission, dared stare the baron straight in the eye. “’Twas a long journey, m’lord,” he said, and again the silence was deafening.

“A
long
journey?” Deverill repeated, lifting a hand in disbelief. “You were only in Wales—is that not correct? Can that be so long?”

“Aye.”

Deverill’s nostrils flared. He clasped his hand behind his back to keep from clenching his fists and driving them into a wall, the table, or one of his men’s faces. “Now the Crusades . . . they were long journeys—thousands of miles longer than your travels—and yet the men who went to fight with King Richard
found
their enemies. They located the Saracens. They did not come back with the Lionheart empty-handed and complaining of the length of the journey.”

“ ’Tis not the same.”

“You were assigned a mission. You failed. ’Tis that simple.” He had no time for this, no patience for more pathetic excuses.

Aaron glared at him. “Forgive me, m’lord,” he said without much contrition, “but I think we, and aye, you, may have been duped.”

“Duped?” Deverill repeated, and felt that same worrisome sensation he had earlier, when he’d first met with Hallyd.

“Aye,” Aaron asserted, though no others joined him. “I think all of us here at Agendor have been lied to, mayhap manipulated.”

“How?” Deverill waited in the warm room for the man to explain himself.

“Lord Hallyd and his men, m’lord,” the captain of the guard muttered.

Frustration crawling through him, Deverill nodded to the one-eared man. “Go on.”

“We had them, m’lord, at Llansteffan nearly three months past,” Aaron said angrily, extending his gloved hand. “We had them right there.” He closed his fist. “But they slipped through our fingers.”

Deverill couldn’t believe his ears. “What do you mean you had them and you lost them?”

The angry soldier scratched at his mangled ear. “We followed them as best we could, but we were slowed by injuries.” He glanced to one side. “Badden, he was attacked by a wolf just as we tried to capture the murderer and his woman, that red-haired witch. I think she called up the devil, she did, and this beast of monstrous size came out of nowhere, snarling and growling and snapping. Wounded one of the horses and took Badden down. Nearly ripped off his leg and then . . . well, he didn’t recover.” His face had flushed with color as he shook his head. “His leg near rotted off. ’Twas horrible. A physician at Llansteffan wanted to take the leg. ’Twas too gnarled. Should have been cut off, but Badden, he wouldn’t have it.”

“So this is why you were duped?”

“Nay, nay,” Aaron said angrily. “We were duped by the soldier from Chwarel who rode with us. Edwynn, his name is.”

“Nay, Edwynn is a mercenary,” one of the other soldiers said. “He’s after your reward, m’lord.”

“What of him?” Deverill asked.

“’Twas as if he didn’t want the two captured.”

“What?”

“I know it sounds odd, and he’s a good tracker. Helped us locate Gavyn and the woman at Llansteffan, but he held back on their capture. Allowed a merchant’s cart to block our way. And then in the forest, while Badden and I were fighting the bloody wolf, this Edwynn let Gavyn and the sorceress escape.”

“What?”

“I’m tellin’ ya true. He let them go. Oh, he took off after them, he did, but lost them. Later, after we put old Badden to rest, we searched for the trail again and within two weeks, we found it, though by that time they were far ahead of us. ” Aaron spat through the open door. “ ’Tis vexing.” He shoved his hair from his eyes and frowned. “’Twas as if Edwynn wanted to keep track of the traitors, aye. He followed them. But when it came to actually capturing them, ’twas almost as if he thwarted us. I don’t think he called up the wolf. Nay, I won’t lay that at his feet, but he damned well let them escape. And Badden’s blood is on his hands as surely as if he’d run him through himself.” He spat again, as if he couldn’t get a bad taste out of his mouth. “Hallyd’s men were just as bad, holding back. ’Tis true, m’lord, they let the bastard escape.”

Deverill’s patience had run thin. “Why would that be?” he asked, but felt a suspicion that had been with him ever since he’d spoken with the snake Hallyd, who had told him about a missing dagger. Deverill hadn’t trusted Hallyd in the first place, and there had been gaps in the story. At the time, as Deverill had sat drinking the man’s wine, trying not to stare at his odd eyes, he’d thought that something was amiss.

Now, months later, it seemed to have come back to haunt him.

He frowned at his men. If there was anything he hated worse than a traitor, it was someone who tried to double-cross him. Damn it all! He would have to do this himself.

“Get my horse, and I’ll need my sword,” he told a page. “Five of you”—he pointed to the men he wanted—“ride with me. And bring the spy.” Cael would turn for the right amount of silver and the promise that his life would be spared.

And so, the spy would fare better than the Lord of Chwarel.

Deverill would see to that himself.

As Bryanna’s belly grew, so did her fears. The summer months came and went with warm breezes, butterflies, flowers and dry grass. The shade of the forest became welcome respite from the heat of the day, and the streams that cut through the hillsides ran more slowly.

Sleep eluded her, and when she did finally fall into exhausted slumber, her dreams were peppered with images of a dark castle with mazelike corridors. She combed those twisted halls in search of a baby whose cries echoed in the vacant vault. No matter how many doors she opened, Bryanna couldn’t find the babe. Panic-stricken, she ran faster and faster, through the intricate labyrinth, opening doors and seeing only darkness until she came to the very last closed door at the end of the long hall. It took her forever to reach it, as her feet seemed to be stuck in quicksand and the door seemed to move farther away as she approached.

When at last she reached it, the door was locked. She grabbed for her key ring but found she had hundreds of keys to choose from. Which one would unlock the door? As she frantically fumbled with the keys, the baby wailed helplessly. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she cried. Finally, the lock sprang open. The door swung free and she stepped inside, only to fall into a black abyss, a chasm that she knew led straight to the underworld. By opening the door she had just let all the creatures of Samhain loose on the world.

“Oh, by the Fates,” she whispered, waking in the forest at dawn. Gavyn was snuggled close to her and the summer sun was streaking the sky in brilliant tones of pink and orange. She touched her swollen belly, felt the movement within, and drew in a long, shaky breath.

“’Twas only a dream,” she said, but pushed herself upright.

She walked into the forest to relieve her forever full bladder, then washed her face in the stream. As she did, the water that had been moving in a lazy current began to swirl, slowly at first, a tiny eddy in the stream, then faster and faster. It spun into a vortex, the center of a swirling funnel, and within the very center she saw an image of two giant rocks rising from the ground. Between them, on a seamless field of grass, she saw the beginning of a crack. Small at first, then larger, as if the very earth were rending. With a horrible, shuddering groan there appeared a dark abyss, not unlike the one in her dream . . . and then the vision ’twas gone. The water no longer eddied and swirled, but resumed its lazy path through the exposed roots.

“Isa?” she whispered, for it had been months since the dead woman had contacted her. Not since Llansteffan had she heard the nursemaid’s voice. “Isa, can you hear me?”

The woods remained silent.

While Gavyn slept, she retrieved her herbs and amulets and the Sacred Dagger, still missing a gem. Closing her eyes, she concentrated and thought of all the spells she’d learned, all that Isa had taught her. She pinched off some dried marjoram and ivy leaves for protection and healing, then quietly she cast her spell for an easy birth, for the safety of her child, for wisdom and protection in the coming weeks.

Soon her child would be born.

What then?

Would her babe be safe, or would the baby be in jeopardy as she feared?

The words of the prophecy played through her head. . . . “A ruler of all men, all beasts, all beings . . .” The Chosen One would have the ability to harness magnificent, vast power. But, oh, how she wished this child inside her were not destined to be the greatest leader the land had ever known.

“Please, Morrigu,” she murmured, her hands sinking into the moist earth along the bank of the stream. “Protect my child.”

Opening her eyes, she noticed yellow eyes peering back at her. Across the stream, lapping at the water’s edge, was the wolf. But the reflection flickering on the water’s surface did not mirror the creature.

Instead, Bryanna saw the image of a woman with pale skin and red hair so like her own. ’Twas the woman of her dreams, seen charging up the steep cliff on horseback, though now her face was calm and full of peace. Where the wolf had a ruffle of black fur around her neck, the woman was marked with a necklace of small red welts, not unlike the bruises Bryanna had suffered from her nightmare.

The marks from Hallyd’s rosary.

Bryanna gasped as the woman’s emerald-green eyes met hers in the wavering reflection.

The wolf
was
a guardian angel of sorts.

The spirit of her true mother.

Morwenna’s child came at dawn, when the apples were beginning to show streaks of red and the hay had been cut and the summer breezes were cooling with the nightfall. The labor took hours and she was exhausted, sweat-stained, and feeling as if she were being cleaved in half when she finally heard her daughter’s lusty wail and the midwife brought the babe to her breast.

“Lenore,” Morwenna sighed as she heard a cock crow thrice and felt the tiny lips upon her nipple, “a daughter.” ’Twas a blessing, she thought, for there would be more babes, but this one, her first, would be closest to her until the others came, and their time would be special. “I shall teach you how to run a keep, and shoot an arrow, and ride like the wind, and plant a garden.” She sent up a prayer for her new child’s health as the midwife took the baby to a nearby pallet to clean and swaddle her. Meanwhile Frynne, the freckle-faced serving girl, quickly changed the sheets and helped Morwenna wash. Only then would Morwenna allow her husband to see his daughter.

She heard him in the corridor, speaking to a guard, no doubt anxious and worried.

Finally, just as Frynne was finishing with the plaits on Morwenna’s hair, the Lord of Calon muttered loudly enough for his wife to hear, “Oh, for the love of God,” then shouldered open the door. He burst inside, then stood stock-still at the side of the bed, staring down at his infant.

“ ’Tis a girl, m’lord,” the midwife said, “and a beauty she is.”

“Like her mother.” He came to the bed and watched in wonder as the baby suckled hungrily at his wife’s breast. One large hand reached out and he tenderly touched the crown of black curls.

His gaze found Morwenna’s and, just for a second, his blue eyes shone. “She’s a miracle,” he said, his voice husky.

“I’ve named her Lenore. After my mother. Unless you have another name you would—”

“Lenore is perfect,” he said with a smile. “As is she.”

He kissed the child’s crown, then did the same to his wife.

“Oh, nay,” Morwenna said. Reaching up, she grabbed the laces of his tunic and pulled his head down to hers. She pressed her lips to his and felt a sizzle of desire pass from her body to his. He moaned and she felt her tired body respond. Finally, she let go of the laces and pulled her head away. “None of those little innocent kisses for me, husband.” She saw one side of his mouth lift in surprise. “I will not be treated ever, do you hear me, not ever like the dutiful wife on whom you bestow a quick kiss and be off and about your duties. If you’re going to kiss me, m’lord, then you damned well better mean it.”

“So that’s the way it is?” he said with a lift of one dark eyebrow.

“That’s the way it is.”

“Well, then, so be it.” And he kissed his wife as if he’d never stop. Only when his newborn let out a little cry did he lift his head. “Aye, wife,” he said, pressing another soft kiss to his daughter’s curls. “That is the way ’twill be.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T
he map seemed useless again. And Isa, damn her already dead soul, had remained mute. Though the journey west had taken most of the summer, as Gavyn and Bryanna no longer had a packhorse and spent much of the time in hiding, they had reached the western shore, where they’d found a farmer who promised to look after the horses, and a fisherman who was willing to ferry them across to Anglesey Isle.

Over Gavyn’s protests, Bryanna insisted they keep going. Aye, her back hurt, aye, her ankles tended to swell, and aye, if she had her choice she would not be out searching for a bloody ruby on a small island surrounded by the sea. But Bryanna felt she had no choice. As the days had passed she was more certain than ever that she was not only piecing together the Sacred Dagger but somehow saving the life of her child.