Twilight Magic (25 page)

“Come sit,” Lady Julia de Vere commanded gently. “Darian will come when he comes.”

“I merely enjoy the sunshine,” Emma countered, doubting either Julia or Mother Abbess believed her.

“Lady Julia is correct, child. Waiting on a man is frustrating at least, fruitless at most,” the abbess stated, a view Emma wasn’t sure she shared, but decided not to comment.

“What have you found, Mother Abbess?”

From a stack of rolled parchments on her desk, testimony to the abbess’s pursuit of information on annulments, she chose a scroll to pick up and wave.

“The Church fathers are most insistent a man do his duty to his wife. If Darian abandons you, there is no sound reason for the marriage to continue.”

Emma sat down in the chair beside Julia’s. “Darian will be back. If not today, then tomorrow, or as soon as he is able.”

Mother Abbess sighed. “You are quite sure?”

To believe otherwise would toss her into despair. She had to believe Darian had been delayed for good reason—not because he planned to abandon her.

“Darian keeps his word.”

The abbess picked up yet another scroll. “Consanguinity seems the most often cited reason for the granting of an annulment. Might you and Darian be related within the proscribed seven degrees?”

Julia laughed. “Their relation to each other would be truly remarkable, Mother Abbess. For a Flemish peasant to be related to a Norman-Welsh noble, they would have to trace their heritage back nigh onto Adam and Eve.”

“So I feared,” the abbess said, then to Emma’s amusement, she blushed. “Might your Darian be impotent?”

The Church took a dim view of marriage in general, considering the creation of children the only reason why men and women might be permitted to have sexual intimacy. Heaven help a couple if they took pleasure in the marriage bed, the enjoyment of lusty tumbles considered a venial sin.

With as straight a face as she could manage, Emma answered, “I fear Darian has no physical impediment on that score.”

“Well, if you are so certain, then we may assume the marriage consummated?”

Emma’s amusement fled as her own cheeks grew warm. “We may.”

The abbess tossed the scroll aside. “Then we are left with only the matter of consent. I assume the king asked you both for your consent.”

Emma remembered the moment vividly. “He did, and we both gave our consent. Grudgingly, but we gave consent.”

The abbess’s eyes narrowed. “How grudgingly?”

“If I remember correctly, I said, ‘Only because you order me to’ and Darian said, ‘If you insist.’ ”

The abbess huffed. “That is hardly freely given consent!”

“They were about to hang Darian. We had no choice.” “What woman is truly given a choice?” Julia grumbled. “I swan, few women would dare defy whatever marriage is arranged for her, especially when ordered by the king. The quality of consent is not a consideration.”

“Perhaps,” the abbess said, “but the Church frowns upon forced marriages.”

“Bishop Henry was present when Darian and I exchanged vows, such as they were, and did not question the quality of our consent.”

“I cannot say why the bishop did not, but no matter. I would say the very nature of your marriage to Darian gives you grounds for annulment.”

So simple an answer. Maybe.

“To whom must we apply?”

The abbess smiled slyly. “Truly, you could petition any bishop, but were I you, I would go to Theobald of Bec, archbishop of Canterbury.”

“Why Canterbury?”

The abbess’s smile widened. “For many a year, Bishop Henry held the position of papal legate, which placed Winchester over Canterbury, which has always been the traditional head of the Church here in England. When Pope Innocent II died, Henry lost the position. Archbishop Theobald went to Rome to ask Pope Celestine II for the appointment to legate and was refused. Both bishops now await a decision from Pope Eugene III as to which man, if either, will be granted the honor and power. Believe me, Theobald would be most happy to tweak Henry’s nose in any fashion, even if it is simply nullifying a marriage Henry blessed.”

Julia clapped her hands. “Oh, how perfect! Only think, Emma, you can have your annulment and have a bit of revenge on Bishop Henry at the same time.”

Perfect, Emma thought dully. Her marriage had begun because of Bishop Henry and might end because of him, too. She wished she’d never heard of Henry, bishop of Winchester!

Julia bounced out of her chair. “Now that all is settled, I must go. My uncle expects me to return to my duties as the king’s hostage, so I shall be leaving on the morrow.”

Mother Abbess received the first farewell hug. “Have a care, Julia, and tell your uncle I expect him to behave so naught will discomfit you.”

Julia giggled. “I shall certainly tell him of your expectation. Oh, Emma. I am sorry we did not have more time to visit. Perhaps the next time we see each other, nothing of import will hinder us from a longer talk. Pray remember, I wish to help in any way I can.”

Emma gratefully accepted Julia’s embrace. They’d spent most of the afternoon together and Julia still hadn’t said all she wanted to, even though she’d spent nigh on an hour exclaiming her delight over the possibility of the annulment. Though thoroughly spoiled and ever mindful of her rank, Julia de Vere’s friendship was warm, and her desire to help sincere.

“I will remember. Pleasant journey.”

With Julia gone and Mother Abbess off to return all those scrolls of parchment to the library, Emma wandered into the cloister, very aware of why Nicole loved it so.

Scented by the plants and open to the sky, dotted by benches and statues, the cloister was designed to help a troubled soul forget the woes of the kingdom beyond the abbey’s high curtain walls.

Except Emma couldn’t forget. Darian was out there. Still at Wallingford? On the road to the abbey? Or had something happened to delay him? And she couldn’t help but worry over what Bishop Henry might do if someone presented him with his slain soldiers.

Sweet mercy, she believed Darian would keep his word. But the longer apart, the more she missed him— and worried.

She reached up and picked an apple, realized she hadn’t wandered to this corner of the cloister before, and spotted the reason why.

The fountain.

A saint she couldn’t name, carved of white marble, presided over the small pool at his feet. Water gently trickled down the rocks behind him, the sound soothing. Enticing.

The pool might show her answers to her questions. Oh, no. She would not resort to such measures. For all she knew, the pool would show her a room she’d not yet been in, or a person she’d not yet met.

But she’d never truly attempted to control what she saw, had always accepted that the water would show her what it would. If she concentrated on a place, or a person, or a question, might the water reveal true answers?

What folly! But how intriguing. Dare she try? Was she willing to accept a horrific vision for no better reason than to satisfy her curiosity? She hadn’t been willing at Hadone. If she hadn’t turned coward, Rose might still be alive.

And her last vision, that of Gwendolyn and her babe, hadn’t been frightening. And perhaps Darian was right when he’d said that by denying the visions, she denied a part of herself.

Terrified, chiding herself for cowardice, Emma put the apple on a bench, filled her head with Darian’s beloved face, and stepped up to the pool.

The trickling water sent gentle ripples over the surface, but she saw her reflection clearly, and soon the beloved face she yearned to see appeared.

Darian sat cross-legged in the dirt, one of five men in a circle. She recognized Thomas and Armand, members of his mercenary band. All were laughing, except Darian, who wore a furtive smile. Then he tossed a pair of dice into the middle of the circle and his smile widened into a glorious grin.

Heart pounding, captivated by Darian’s grin, Emma knelt down to have a better look. Darian looked so happy, an emotion she’d never seen in him before. Smiles, certes, but not like this. Not glorious.

What she wouldn’t give to be with him at this moment, to reach out, to touch his mouth—the water rippled and Darian disappeared.

Emma blinked, realizing she’d put a single finger into the pool to touch Darian’s lips, halting the vision. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to pierce the back of her skull and burst through her head.

Other than slight dizziness, nothing happened.

She stood up, opened her eyes, and stared at the statue. The dizziness abated. She felt no pain, no hurt of any kind.

Sweet mercy, she’d invited a vision and saw what she wished to see! Darian.

Playing dice. Grinning at his fellow mercenaries. Happy with them as he’d never been with her. And obviously in no hurry to leave their company.

Apparently Darian didn’t miss her as much as she missed him. He experienced no longings, no sadness, no sense of obligation to return to her as quickly as she wanted him to return.

Emma plopped down on the bench, grabbed the apple and took a full, satisfying bite, taking her rising ire out on a hapless piece of fruit. Here she’d been miserable and he—the wretch—was happily playing at dice, enjoying himself, and from the grin on his face he was winning.

Emma groaned, becoming aware she couldn’t take Darian to task for dallying at Wallingford or he would know she’d seen him in a vision—had spied on him.

She swallowed, the apple hitting her stomach with a thud.

Well, she hadn’t
intended
to spy, only test whether or not she could control a vision, and now she wasn’t proud of her accomplishment. ’Twas devious and ignoble to observe others when they weren’t aware of being watched. Just because she missed Darian wasn’t an acceptable excuse for her behavior.

If she told Darian of what she saw, he might be angry, and God’s truth, she didn’t wish to argue with him anymore. All she wanted was for him to come fetch her because she missed him so much because she ...loved him.

Denial flared and died all within a heartbeat. Joy flamed, and she basked in the sensation of a glowing heart and jubilant soul. She loved Darian, and the elation was almost too much to bear.

Too quickly, the elation also faded.

Loving Darian might be considered greater folly than testing her visions.

She loved a husband who wanted quit of their marriage. She loved a mercenary who’d admitted to assassinations. She loved a man who didn’t miss her enough to leave his dice game—if, indeed, he were tossing dice.

Had the vision shown her what Darian was doing now, or an event to take place in the future? Perhaps he didn’t dally at Wallingford. Maybe Darian was even now on his way.

The brief flash of hope died when she acknowledged she knew that wasn’t true. Just as she’d
known
the bloody water in the washbasin at Hadone had been a foretelling of the battle with the bishop’s soldiers, she
knew
the fountain’s pool showed her what Darian did this very moment.

How very odd to realize she might be learning about how her visions worked, too.

Still, she shouldn’t have given in to temptation, should have walked past the fountain without peering into the water. Then she wouldn’t now feel so forsaken and miserable.

Except if not for Darian, she might never have found the courage to purposely gaze into the water. She might never have known the bliss of loving a man with her whole heart and soul.

No matter what the future held, she’d taken risks and felt hardier for the experiences. Still, if Darian didn’t come to fetch her—soon—she might not be quick to recover.

“The damn guard lied to me!” Philip tossed his hand in the air. “On my oath, I will boil that guard’s balls!”

“So long as you allow me to cut them off first.” Furious, Darian glanced around at the three other men in Earl William’s sumptuous tent, gathered to discuss what action to take against Bishop Henry. “My lord, we shall need your kind permission.”

William shook his head. “ ’Tis not the guard’s balls that deserve boiling. He followed orders, likely given by Bishop Henry, and if you disturb Henry’s balls, the king might take offense.”

Marc huffed. “Well, the guards lied to Armand and me, too. They audaciously claimed they knew neither Hubert nor Gib. If they lied about the informants, then their claim that no one named Perrin resided in the Clink might also be a lie.”

“It well might,” William allowed. “However, where the bishop is concerned, we must use caution. He can be dangerous.” The earl rubbed at his chin. “Oh, he dislikes mercenaries with a passion and would delight in having every one of you sent back to Flanders, but he knows the king would not stand for it. Stephen needs us. The more I think about it, the more I believe you men are not his true targets. I am. But Henry cannot attack me directly because I enjoy Stephen’s patronage, so he attempts to discredit me through all of you.”

Marc whistled low; Philip groaned.

Darian thought the earl’s reasoning both sensible and somehow sad.

“He resents you so much?”

William nodded. “Bishop Henry is unreasonably jealous of all who have influence with King Stephen. Of late, Henry’s hold on Stephen has slipped and Henry seeks to raise himself in his brother’s esteem. He will do what he believes he must to once again be Stephen’s most trusted advisor.”

Powerful men abhorred a loss of power, and struck harshly at all whom they perceived as enemies.

“So when Perrin fell into Henry’s hands, likely over a gambling debt, the bishop held him to make it appear he deserted. Edward de Salis also fell into his hands, likely on the same evening, and the bishop devised a plan to blame me for his murder—to discredit you for lack of control over your band.”

“So it seems to me.”

“But that means Henry, or one of his minions, convinced one of us to steal my dagger and hand it over to him as evidence against me.”

“Convinced, or coerced. Right now, I am more concerned with what Henry has planned for the future.”

“William, we need to know who took the dagger.” “And we will find out. Did any of you learn why de Salis was in Southwark? I find it strange he was there at so convenient a time for Henry.”