A Passionate Magic Page 10

  He reached down to touch her where he knew she would be most sensitive, and when he felt her begin to shatter around him, he finally let his body move freely as desire urged him. Emma’s cries of delight were music that softened his hardened heart, even as they strengthened his long, eager thrusts.

  One portion of his exalted mind warned that he must be hurting her with his furiously passionate assault; another part noted that Emma was lifting herself to meet his every thrust, that her hands were clutching at his buttocks, her nails digging into him, urging him onward.

  Then a piercing, hot sweetness shot through him, and Dain stopped thinking. He hung for an instant at the brink of an astonishing revelation, with Emma’s body throbbing beneath him, and then he tumbled over the edge of ecstasy and soared there for a breathless eternity, aware of nothing but an incredible happiness and a sense of gratitude toward the woman who had bestowed such a miracle upon him.

  He wakened toward dawn to find Emma cuddled in his arms. He vaguely remembered pulling her close again after their long and intense lovemaking was finished, when both of them were beyond words. Dain could not recall ever before being so moved by a woman. He had been touched by the open and honest way in which Emma had given herself to him. And he knew the memory of the instant of complete happiness that he had found in her would remain with him for the rest of his life. When he was old and feeble he would remember that perfect moment, and for a little while he would be restored to youth and strength once more.

  But the fire in his body was gone now. The early morning breeze blowing through the open windows was cool, and a sudden chill attacked Dain’s mind and wrapped itself around his heart. He thought about the events of the previous day, of the unusual summer heat and his hard work beside his men-at-arms and the villagers. He heard again old Agatha’s voice offering him cool, spiced wine; he saw her gnarled hand holding the jug and refilling his cup several times. Agatha had brought him more wine later in the day, and it was so refreshing, so cooling to his parched throat, that he had drunk far more than he ordinarily imbibed.

  And then, unable to withstand the clamorous demands of his own body, he had ridden through the night to Penruan, to bed his maiden wife, to consummate the marriage he did not want made fully legal. Consumed by lust, he had spilled his seed into the daughter of his worst enemy.

  Dark suspicion took root and blossomed, all in a moment’s time. The fruit of his suspicion was so bitter that Dain nearly choked on it.

  Emma stirred in his arms, murmuring softly, and her hand flexed against his chest. She was a warm and fragrant weight against him, her soft body more alluring than any siren’s. Dain felt his own body begin to rise into eager life in response to Emma’s touch, and he cursed the longing that could so easily have led him to waken her with a kiss. It was a powerful urge that made him want to caress her into what he was sure would be ready compliance, so he could join himself to her again and find once more the brief, ecstatic happiness that had earlier transported him. He shuddered at the wave of desire that swept over him.

  As quickly as he could without waking her, he slid Emma out of his embrace and left the bed. He drew the green quilt up around her shoulders to keep out the cool breeze that might waken her. Then, still unclothed, he went to stand at the window while he sorted out his thoughts.

  The windows in the lord’s chamber faced west— deliberately so, to prevent attackers on the landward side of the castle from shooting flaming arrows into the room. The arrangement meant Dain could not see the sunrise. But he could see the sky turning a soft shade of pink, and he could see the mist rising off the calm, blue sea. Far below him the waves crashed upon the rocks at the foot of the tower keep. He usually found their constant thunder a restful sound. Not so today. Dain’s speculations were deeply troubling.

  Being an honest man at heart, he began by admitting to himself that it was possible that the desire that had overpowered him and led to his mad ride to Penruan was the result of his own longing, what Emma had called his own will.

  It was also possible that Agatha had mixed into the wine she gave him herbs intended to inflame his natural male readiness into uncontrollable lust. He had heard stories about such herbs, and if they actually existed, Agatha surely knew of them.

  These musings left him with three questions. If Agatha’s herbs were responsible for his midnight madness, why had she fed them to him? Having known Agatha for most of his life, Dain found it difficult to believe she would do harm to him. Agatha was one of the few people he trusted.

  Did Emma know what Agatha had done? And if so, was Emma the instigator of the deed? It was easy enough to believe that Emma had wanted Dain to consummate their marriage in order to gain a tighter hold over him and perhaps to conceive a child by him.

  When he reached this point in his thoughts, Dain turned from his unseeing contemplation of sky and ocean to stalk across the room to the bed where Emma still slept. She looked so small tucked beneath the heavy quilt, and so innocent with her cheek resting on one hand, that he could not bear to think of her as treacherous.

  If she had not conspired with Agatha to drug him into consummating their marriage, then he must accept that she had given herself to him out of true affection and out of a longing for a happy marriage. It had seemed to him at the time that there was no withholding in her joyful reception of his embrace. But if he was drugged by herbs, how could he be sure his impressions were accurate?

  Worse still, if he accepted that Emma was innocent of any intrigue, then he must lay aside long-cherished beliefs about the tainted descendants of Udo of Wroxley. If Emma was innocent, if her blood ran honest and true, then perhaps Gavin was equally honest, equally blameless in the old quarrel between Udo and Dain’s grandfather.

  It was close to heresy to oppose his lifelong training in hatred. Udo and all his spawn were wicked, treacherous creatures; so Dain had been taught since he was old enough to understand the meaning of wickedness. The shrill voice that echoed in his mind told him nothing had changed because he had lain with a woman.

  As he stared down at Emma’s sleeping form it occurred to him that from sundown of the previous night until dawn of the new day rising outside his window, that demanding voice had been completely silent. Whether herbs had silenced it, or the demands of passion, in its absence he had experienced complete happiness.

  He regarded Emma, whose innocent, awakening passion had led him to that brief happiness, and he knew he would give his soul to possess her again, and find with her the same intense and fragile joy.

  But not if she was conspiring against him, not if she was part of a scheme inspired by Gavin of Wroxley. He had to learn the truth about Emma, and about her intentions toward him. He owed it to the folk who called him their liege lord to keep his wits about him and not give in to blind lust.

  With a low, muttered oath he turned away from his bed and his beautiful, sleeping wife. As quietly as he could, he pulled on his clothes and buckled his sword belt at his waist. Then he tiptoed out of the room, down the stairs, and across the bailey to the stable. The sun was just rising above the high moorland when he set out for Trevanan.

  Emma woke suddenly and sat up in bed, confused. She thought she had heard the door latch click, but there was no one in the room. Hawise’s door was closed, though the serving woman had left it partly open before going to bed, in case Emma should need something during the night.

  ”Dain must have closed it before he came to bed,” Emma murmured. She glanced around the room, searching for some sign of his presence. The events of the past night seemed to her a dream, until she looked at the pillow next to hers. It was one of the new pillows she had brought from Wroxley, plump with its fresh feather stuffing. There was an indentation in the pillow where Dain’s head had rested, and in the center of the rounded impression lay a single cornflower, blue as a piece of summer sky against the white linen.

  Emma picked up the flower and held it against her cheek, then pressed it to her lips. Here was evidence th
at Dain’s appearance had been real. The flower, added to the tiny splotch of blood on the sheet and the smears along her thighs, and the wonderful, languorous ache in her limbs and far inside her body, all told her she had not been dreaming. Dain had come to her in the dark of night, had ridden to her from Trevanan. And while she had tried to teach him to love, he had introduced her to passion, to a desire that flared even now, in the bright light of morning. She longed to have him back in her arms. Her bruised lips ached for his renewed kisses.

  The blue blossom she held as if it were a fabulous jewel was proof of Dain’s thoughtful tenderness toward her. She did not pretend to herself that he loved her yet, but she held in her hand hope that one day he might learn to care for her. Surely he knew, for it was common knowledge even among men-at-arms, that cornflowers were used to make an infusion to treat digestive disorders, and that the juice from the stems could heal wounds. It must be why he had chosen to leave this particular flower for her, as a sign of his approval of her work with herbal medicines.

  Emma could hear Hawise moving about in the next room. Still holding the precious gift, she got out of bed, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, and went to stand at the window. While she watched the early sunlight glistening on the blue sea she tried to think of the best way to explain to Dain that she possessed inborn magical abilities. After willingly opening to him the most private secrets of her body, the next step was to tell him the innermost secrets of her mind, and to convince him that her gift was not an evil one. Then, after Dain understood and accepted what she was, they could truly be man and wife.

  She did not think he would take the news easily, but she looked forward to the telling. From the first she had wanted complete honesty between them, and now, after the tender way Dain had made love to her, and with the flower he had left suggesting there was a hidden, gentle side to him, she was filled with bright anticipation and hope for their marriage. She would find the right words to explain her magic, and Dain would understand.

  “Good morning, my lady. I thought I left this door open last night.”

  Emma heard Hawise come into the room, but she did not turn from the window. She heard Hawise step to the bed, to pull back the sheets so the linens could air for a while.

  “My lady, there’s blood on the sheet. You had your monthly flow just last week,” Hawise cried. “Are you ill? Or injured?”

  “Neither,” Emma answered. Her cheeks were suddenly burning, so she kept her back to the room while she made her explanation. Somehow, it was easier to do when she looked at the flower. “Dain was here last night. It was he who closed your door.”

  There followed a silence that Emma sensed was filled with all the questions Hawise wanted to ask, yet would not.

  “No doubt,” Hawise finally said, “you have certain aching muscles that you will want to soak for a while in a warm bath. I will see to it.”

  When Emma was certain she was alone again she left the window and returned to the bed to stare at the tiny, reddish-brown spot that was proof of her lost maidenhood.

  ”I love you, Dain,’ she whispered. “Because of you, a wonderful, passionate magic has seized my heart. I only pray you will allow me to teach you to love as I do.”

  “Lord Dain left just at sunrise, my lady,” said Todd, the man-at-arms who had been on sentry duty overnight.

  He gave a huge yawn that made Emma want to yawn, too. Even in the shadows of the great hall she could see his eyes twinkling as he regarded her, and she saw his gaze rest upon the flower she wore pinned at the shoulder of her gown. Todd’s nose, once broken and healed crookedly, gave his face a savage appearance, yet Emma knew him for a kind-hearted soul who loved his wife and infant son. He was the friendliest of the men-at-arms, an observation proven by his next words, which he delivered as if he wanted to offer reassurance.

  “Dain arrived late at night and seemed to be in a great hurry. Tis not at all unusual for a newly married man to visit his wife. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he returns again tonight.”

  “Thank you for the information,” Emma said, wishing her cheeks did not blush so easily. “Will you tell Sloan that Blake and I are going for a walk on the moor, to gather herbs?”

  “I will, my lady. And thank ye again for the ointment you gave me when I burned my hand a few days ago. It’s healing nicely, as ye can see.” The guard held out his hand to show her. “We were blessed the day you came to Penruan, my lady.”

  Emma was grateful when Todd did not remark on her decision to walk rather than ride. In the aftermath of her passionate interlude with Dain there remained a few muscles not soothed by the hot bath Hawise had drawn for her. Emma did not think she could sit a horse without discomfort. How odd that she had not noticed any pain while Dain was with her, stroking deep inside her, luring her onward with him into a magical beauty beyond all the dreams of innocent maidenhood. Emma’s cheeks flamed again at the memory. Her fingers lightly touched the blue flower.

  Then she noticed Todd smiling at her, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Emma excused herself and went to look for Blake.

  Chapter 7

  Dain did not stop at the site where the rebuilding was almost completed. He waved to the workmen who called out their greetings as he rode past, shouted a promise to return shortly, and then rode on through the little village to Agatha’s hut.

  As he dismounted Agatha came to the door. With her was a stranger, a man whose dark, uncut hair and long beard showed graying streaks, who wore a plain brown cloak that displayed signs of hard wear, and whose brown tunic and boots were not in much better condition than his outer garment. The staff the stranger held in his left hand, his broad-brimmed felt hat, and the leather sack slung over his right shoulder told Dain the man was a pilgrim, perhaps one of the holy hermits frequently seen in Cornwall, who lived on the moor or, occasionally, resided in the cliff-side caves.

  “Thank you for your help,” the stranger said to Agatha. “The pain is much less now, so I can continue my journey to its end.”

  His voice was so clear and crisp and his accent so aristocratic that Dain looked more closely at him. There wasn’t much to see; just dusty hair and beard, a deeply tanned upper face, and no sign of any weapon. The man held his right arm close to his body, and Dain saw that his right hand, which was partly hidden by his loose sleeve, was crippled, the fingers bent and the skin smooth and shiny, as if the hand had once been thrust into a fire and the seared flesh had never healed properly. As Dain often did on meeting such wanderers, he wondered what the stranger’s story was.

  After his quick but searching look at the man, Dain did not think he presented any danger to either Trevanan or Penruan. Listening to Agatha talk to him, Dain concluded that she had met the stranger during her wanderings in search of herbs. If she had brought him back to her house for treatment of some affliction, which Dain took to be the case upon hearing the man’s words of thanks, then Agatha was not any more concerned about his presence in the village than Dain was.

  “Your journey will not end where you expect,” Agatha told the stranger. “Now, see that you do not forget my directions.”

  “I will remember. Thank you again,” the stranger said.

  With a slight nod to Dain, he walked away. He limped rather badly, and the set of his shoulders indicated a deep weariness. Dain watched him for only a moment before Agatha’s greeting drove thoughts of the stranger out of his mind.

  “Come into the garden and sit in the shade,” Agatha said. “The day is hot again. I’ll fetch a jug of cool wine for us to share.”

  “No, thank you. The wine you prepared for me yesterday was potion enough.” Dain followed her along the side of the house and into the herb garden. There all of the rich and tantalizing fragrances of high summer greeted him; thyme, and the last of the roses, bee balm and hyssop, and mint springing thick and green in the shade. Agatha waved a hand in the direction of the bench, but Dain was too angry with her to sit. Planting his fists at his waist, he glared at his olde
st friend.

  “What did you put in that wine?” he demanded.

  ”Violets,” Agatha said, not bothering to pretend she didn’t understand his meaning, “and a drop of jasmine oil that was brought to me years ago from the East, a few honeysuckle flowers, and one or two other ingredients which I prefer not to name.”

  “Why did you do it?” he asked. “You knew I intended not to consummate this marriage between enemies, so I could more easily have it annulled later.”

  “That plan was made when you expected to be sent a child bride,” Agatha said. “Emma is not your enemy.”

  “Her father is.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Agatha asked.

  “I have my mother’s word on it,” he said. “Agatha, you know I have promised my mother there will be no magic practiced at Penruan. The herbs you put into my wine broke that promise.”

  “I did not carry those herbs to Penruan,” she responded, with no sign of repentance. “You took them there, in your own belly.” Suddenly she grinned at him, and for a few moments her aged face resembled that of a mischievous child.

  “Does Richenda really think she can keep all magic out, in a land where magic abounds?” Agatha shook her head as if in disgust at Lady Richenda’s narrow way of thinking. “Dain, the herbs I put into your wine did you no harm. They only released you to do what you wanted to do long before you took the first sip.”

  “Did Emma order you to offer the wine to me? She was here, visiting you, just before you produced that jug of tainted drink.”

  “When was the last time anyone dared to order me?” Agatha asked with a laugh. “I swear to you, Emma did not know what I was doing. In fact, when I mentioned making a love potion for her to give to you, she forbade me. She wanted honest passion from you. However, I knew you to be so bound by the hatred of Emma’s family that your mother has instilled in you over the years that you were incapable of taking the first step toward a true marriage unless you had my help.”