A Passionate Magic Read online

  “I am not my mother’s puppet!”

  “Never fear, I do know who you are,” Agatha said. “Lad, your father died when you were much too young. There are things you have forgotten.”

  “My father died because of Udo,” Dain said between gritted teeth.

  “There has been no one to counteract the poisonous words Richenda has dripped into your ears day by day, year after year,” Agatha said. “No one but me. I think it’s why you visit me so often. I am the antidote to your mother. In your heart you know that, unlike Richenda, I have no other reason for what I say to you than my love for you.”

  “Do not speak ill of my mother.” Dain’s voice was gentler now. He sat on the bench and leaned his head back against the bark of the old apple tree.

  “Why should I not?” Agatha asked, joining him on the bench. “Richenda does not hesitate to speak ill of me.”

  “I am weary of the conflict between you,” Dain said. “I wish you would settle your differences.”

  “It will never happen, because Richenda has her beliefs and I have mine, and neither she nor I will ever change,” Agatha said. “Has it never occurred to you that for a woman who professes a strong Christian faith, Richenda carries on an amazing number of feuds? There was the one with Lord Udo, which she has continued with Udo’s son. There is the constant feud with me, which has lasted nearly thirty years. And you know as well as I that Richenda will return to Penruan as soon as she has quarreled yet again with her sister the abbess. I see food for thought there, lad. If I were you, I’d question the claims of a woman who quarrels with nearly everyone she knows. And then, there is the matter of the girl. Well, it’s best not to speak to you of that. Not yet.” Agatha lapsed into silence.

  “Nothing you have said excuses your deed,” Dain told her. “You should not have put those herbs into my wine. Now, thanks to you, Emma may be carrying my child.”

  “I do hope so,” Agatha said. “I cannot think of a better way to end a senseless quarrel between nobles.”

  Dain considered the possibility that Emma was with child, that her slim figure might soon begin to grow round as his seed grew in her. The idea was so agreeable that he shied away from it as a nervous horse shies from an adder. He believed he knew better than to hope for anything good to come from the family of Lord Udo. To clear his mind of the beguiling image of Emma holding his child in her arms, he thought about Agatha s peculiar words.

  “What was that you just said about my mother and a girl?” he asked, hoping to catch her off guard with the sudden question.

  ”What girl?” she said, not looking directly at him as she ordinarily did when they were talking together. “I’m just an old woman whose thoughts sometimes wander. Think nothing of it.”

  Agatha’s thoughts never wandered, and they both knew it. She was hiding something from him. Dain was going to insist that she explain, but she took his hand in hers and smiled at him with all the warm kindness she had shown to him ever since he was a lonely child, and he did not have the heart to press his question further.

  The cave was exactly where Agatha had promised it would be. With a murmured word of thanks on behalf of the elderly herbalist, the stranger set down his sack and removed his hat in preparation for squeezing past the rock at the entrance. He was a good-sized man and his booted feet made firm impressions in the damp sand of the outer chamber.

  “Excellent,” he said, looking around, appreciating the softer light inside the cave. “In here, I won’t have to squint all the time.”

  The inner chamber was all he had hoped it would be. The stranger noted the dry rock walls rising high around him like a solid fortress, and the opening far above through which daylight entered and through which smoke from a fire could escape. He saw the impressions of small, bare feet that crisscrossed the sand as if someone had paced back and forth many times, always stopping in the same place at the face of the rock.

  “Agatha’s footprints, by the size or them,” he said. “I wonder what she does in here, when the herbs she uses are all planted in her garden at Trevanan, or else growing wild out on the moors?”

  With a shrug he dismissed the question and knelt to test the water in the underground stream. He dipped his left hand into the water and brought it to his mouth, finding it cool and fresh to the taste.

  “Yes,” he said, rising to his feet and looking around again. He had a habit of talking to himself whenever he was alone, which was most of the time. Talking out loud kept his voice from growing rusty, and the sound of a human voice helped to make his loneliness less difficult to bear. “Here I can be quiet, and perhaps at last I will find the peace I seek. Here I can do no harm to those I love, and it’s better for them if I never see them again. And if I die here, this is as good a tomb as any.”

  The stranger went outside to retrieve his hat and sack and carry them into his new abode. Then it was back to the beach once more to gather a few scarce pieces of driftwood for a fire. He made a third trip to the beach. This time he went barefoot and with the sleeves of his tunic rolled above his elbows. For the sake of easier movement he left his boots and his long cloak in the cave.

  A search among the rocks at the edge of the sea yielded mussels, and seaweed to wrap them in while cooking them. The tide was coming in, and the stranger’s sharp eyes detected a silvery shape within the foaming waves. Laying down the shellfish, he waded into the water and stood still. The next wave rolled in and the stranger bent suddenly, submerging his left arm up to the elbow. When he straightened he held a small, wriggling fish.

  “I haven’t done that since I was a boy,” he said, laughing in triumph. “Well, I’ll not be greedy and ask for more. This will make a decent meal.”

  A short time later the stranger sat beside a driftwood fire laid on the dry floor of the cave, holding the cleaned fish over the flames on a spit fashioned out of a branch he had broken off a bush that was growing from the cliff face. The mussels in their seaweed wrapping were done before the fish, so he ate them first, sopping the juices from the shells with a loaf of round bread that Agatha had put into his sack. He also had a wooden cup in his sack, and this he used to dip water out of the stream.

  ”A finer wine than many I have tasted,” he said, and filled the cup to drink again.

  His meal finished, he took the fish bones and the skin outside and left them at the water’s edge for the sea birds to pick over. His new living arrangements had taken considerable time, and by now the sun was setting. The stranger stood for a few minutes admiring the rose-and-gold-streaked clouds, waiting until the sky turned darker and the first stars appeared before he reentered the cave. There was just enough light still coming through the opening at the top of the chamber to show him the way. He spread his cloak on the sand of the inner chamber and added the last piece of driftwood to the fire.

  “That’s an indulgence,” he said. “I didn’t see much driftwood on the beach. Tomorrow, I’ll ask Agatha where I can find wood or peat to use for fuel. Then I’ll gather some wild plants to eat and hope another fish swims into my hands.”

  His stomach pleasantly full of bread and mussels and fish, his bare toes warmed by the fire, he settled into the folds of his cloak. He was weary to his bones and to the depths of his mind and heart, but he was confident that he was safe at last, his long wandering ended. With a contented sigh the stranger gave himself up to sleep.

  He woke once during the night. The fire had burned down to glowing red embers. Otherwise, the cave was dark and still. He was not afraid of the dark. There was nothing left for him to fear. When he glimpsed a wisp of white in the darkness he did not even lift his head. Surely it was only the last bit of smoke from his fire, drifting across the cave and disappearing into the rock wall.

  “I don’t understand it,” Emma said. “Dain is at Trevanan, no one saw him enter the castle, he did not visit me last night, yet this morning I discovered a sprig of rosemary on his pillow.”

  “Well, it is his castle,” Hawise said in her sensible wa
y, “and Dain has lived in it for most of his life. He probably knows of some secret way to come and go. The cook tells me he used to sneak off when he was a boy, to get away from his mother’s scolding, and he would walk along the cliffs to Trevanan, or ride his pony there.”

  “I suppose he could have entered without being seen,” Emma said, staring at the rosemary in her hand. Tiny pink flowers starred the green needles along the branch. Rosemary was a sign of love and fidelity, as well as of memory. “But if Dain did come to our room last night, why didn’t he wake me?” She met Hawise’s eyes squarely, too perplexed to be embarrassed by her own question.

  “I don’t know, my lady,” Hawise replied. She bent to pull up the quilt and smooth it over the bed. “Perhaps he couldn’t stay long and only wanted to leave a token of his warm feelings.”

  “What, ride all the way from Trevanan just to lay this on the pillow?” Emma frowned at the sprig of rosemary. “It doesn’t make sense.” She could think of no reason why Dain would not wake her to embrace her.

  “You will have to ask Lord Dain what his reason was,” Hawise said.

  “So I shall. Perhaps I will ride to Trevanan today, to see him.”

  “Sloan says the houses are almost finished.” Hawise gave one of the pillows a hearty whack to fluff it up and then replaced it on the bed. “Dain may well come home before you can go to Trevanan.”

  Perhaps that was what the rosemary was for, to remind her not to forget him until he did return to Penruan. But he had returned, and he had not come into their bed. Still puzzled by the herbal offering, Emma laid the rosemary aside, carefully wrapping it in the same scrap of old linen in which she kept the blue cornflower that had been her first gift.

  All thought of a ride to Trevanan was quashed in mid-morning, when Sloan sent Blake to tell Emma a messenger had just arrived from Lady Richenda, bearing the news that she would be at Penruan in time for the midday meal.

  “Someone must hurry to Trevanan to inform Dain,” Emma said to the page.

  “Sloan has already sent one of the men-at-arms,” Blake said.

  “The cook will want to know.” Emma’s thoughts were whirling with the details of what must be done before her mother-in-law arrived. “Some special dish ought to be prepared to welcome her. Blake, can you tell me what sort of food Lady Richenda especially likes?”

  “She doesn’t like any food more than any other,” Blake said. “Besides, she’d be very angry if the cook deviated from the menus she gave her before she left Penruan. Lady Richenda isn’t going to be happy, anyway.” Blake’s youthful face was somber.

  “Do you mean because I am here?” Emma asked. “But she knew I was to marry Dain. It’s no secret that my coming here is the reason why Lady Richenda has been absent from Penruan for weeks.”

  “I do think Lady Richenda is expecting you to be a little girl,” Blake said.

  “And still she went away!” Emma exclaimed. “Leaving a little girl to the care of servants, with no woman to greet her or ease her fears about being in a new place. That was not kindly done. I am glad it was I who came to Penruan, instead of my younger sister.”

  Blake said nothing to this declaration, and Emma wished she had not spoken her thoughts aloud, for the boy looked most unhappy. He looked even more unhappy later, when Lady Richenda arrived and swept into the great hall like a disdainful queen. She fixed her sharp gaze upon Blake.

  “Well?” Lady Richenda greeted the boy. “What mischief have you been doing during my absence, for which I will now be obliged to punish you?”

  “No mischief at all, my lady.” Blake went to one knee before her and bowed his head. “Welcome home, Lady Richenda. I am glad to see you in good health.”

  “You know nothing about the state of my health,” Lady Richenda said. “As for mischief, I know you too well to believe you have been behaving yourself during these last few weeks.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” said Emma, coming forward, “Blake has been very well behaved.”

  “Who are you?” Lady Richenda demanded, glaring at her.

  “Allow me to join Blake in welcoming you to Penruan, my lady.” Emma sank into a curtsy.

  “I asked who you are,” said Lady Richenda.

  “I am Emma of Wroxley. I am Dain’s wife.”

  “What?” Lady Richenda stared at her. “I expected a child of seven.”

  ”Yes, I know, my lady, but my younger sister has been ill and so I came in her place.” Emma was determined not to antagonize her mother-in-law, so she kept to herself her opinion of the way Lady Richenda had absented herself from Penruan during the period when Dain’s bride was expected to arrive.

  ”A substitute bride, are you? No doubt your coming was the result of some vile trick perpetrated by Gavin of Wroxley,” Lady Richenda said. She did not lower her voice, which, being both loud and shrill, carried easily to every corner of the great hall and beyond. When she ceased speaking a sudden stillness fell in the hall, as if everyone there was waiting to learn what would happen next.

  Emma chose not to make the angry reply in defense of Gavin that immediately sprang to her lips. Instead, she took a moment to study her opponent.

  Lady Richenda was tall and thin, her height emphasized by her severe dark robe and her plain white linen wimple. Her features were similar to Dain’s, and she possessed eyes of the same startling blue-green shade. But where Dain’s eyes could warm and smile on occasion, Lady Richenda gave the impression of holding no warmth at all. Her sharp-boned face was gaunt, as though the features were honed by long illness or by intense religious fervor, or both. For just an instant Emma felt a spurt of pity for her mother-in-law, until she saw the flash of malice in Lady Richenda’s eyes and knew the woman was going to be an implacable enemy to any hope of finding happiness with Dain.

  “Your inability to speak and answer my accusation,” declared Lady Richenda, “is the result of guilt.”

  “Not so, my lady,” Emma said. “I have come here to be an instrument of peace between your son and my father.”

  “Peace!” Lady Richenda’s shrill tone made clear her opinion of that idea.

  “For my willing presence here, I deserve a respectful greeting equal to the one I gave to you,” Emma said.

  “You will get no such greeting from me,” Lady Richenda told her. “I do not want you here.”

  “Mother.” Dain strode into the hall, his spurs jingling softly in the tense silence. “Welcome home.” As Blake had done before him, Dain went to one knee. He would have lifted his mother’s hand to his lips, but she snatched it away.

  “What have you done in my absence?” Lady Richenda’s voice held an awful warning.

  Dain rose to his feet, smiling as if he had not noticed the odd stillness in the hall, or the way every person there stood unmoving, watching the scene.

  “I see you have met my wife,” Dain said, still smiling. “I am sorry I wasn’t here to present her to you, myself. I am sure Emma has made you welcome.”

  “I am not a guest, to be made welcome in my own home,” Lady Richenda said with icy dignity. She looked from Dain to Emma and back again. “Have you bedded her?”

  “That is not your concern,” Dain responded.

  “Indeed, it is! I will know the truth. How did she trick you into bed?”

  “I do believe this is a matter we ought to discuss calmly, in a more private place,” Emma said.

  “How dare you tell me where to speak!” Lady Richenda stood still as a statue, her face like stone. Only her burning eyes and her shrill voice betrayed any emotion.

  “Emma is right,” Dain said. “The great hall at midday, before servants and men-at-arms, is not the place to discuss such an intimate matter.”

  “Will you take her part?” cried Lady Richenda. “Choose your enemy’s daughter over me? She has bewitched you!”

  Emma gasped, wondering if Lady Richenda was able to discern her magical power. Then she realized it was merely a figure of speech, the worst thing that Lady Richenda could ima
gine. From the corner of her eye Emma saw Father Maynard enter the hall.

  “The Commandments say, ‘Honor thy father and thy mother,’ ” Lady Richenda intoned, speaking to Dain.

  “And our Blessed Lord said that a man shall leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife,” Father Maynard said.

  “Do not presume to contradict me in this,” Lady Richenda snapped at him. “I will have obedience from my son.”

  “You will have honor and respect,” said Dain, “but do not forget who is lord of this castle. Now, if you wish to continue this conversation, we will do so in my chamber.”

  Lady Richenda directed a cold look at him before she turned and headed for the tower stairs. Dain put out a hand to Emma, to usher her toward the steps. She held back.

  “Father Maynard,” Emma said, “will you come, too? That is, if you agree, Dain?”

  “Yes, I do,” Dain responded at once. “Come along, priest; we may need you as a peacemaker.”

  “What is this?” cried Lady Richenda as she took in the refurbished lord’s chamber. “Who has dared to make these changes without my approval?”

  “Emma has my permission for everything she has done in this room,” Dain said. “I am far more comfortable now than I ever was in the past.”

  “You do not need new bed hangings, or cushions,” Lady Richenda declared, almost spitting out the words. “You do not need comforts, my son. What you require is boldness and determination of purpose if you are to defeat your enemy. Let me remind you that your enemy is this creature’s parent.”

  Emma bit her lip and remained silent, waiting to hear what Dain would say. She was pleased by the quick way in which he had defended the alterations she was continuing to make in his room.

  “I have not forgotten anything you have taught me,” Dain said to his mother. He gestured toward the cushioned chair, offering the seat to her. When she refused with a haughty shake of her head, Dain sat down. At once Emma went to stand behind the chair, as she had often seen Mirielle do with Gavin. Emma put one hand on Dain’s shoulder and was encouraged when he did not shrug it off or tell her to remove it. Lady Richenda noticed, and her eyes narrowed.