A Passionate Magic Read online

  “It’s more likely that hearing Dain agree with me infuriated her,” Emma said, too distressed by the quarrel to care if she spoke aloud an opinion better kept to herself. “I expected Lady Richenda to dislike me, but why does she express such a fanatic hatred of Agatha?”

  “I suppose it’s because Agatha is a healer,” Blake answered.

  “Yes, of course, but it’s more than that. On the subject of Agatha, Lady Richenda is almost mad. But why?”

  “I don’t know, my lady. I think it has always been that way.” Blake swayed a little, and Emma tightened the arm she still kept around his shoulders. She could tell by the slightly blank look in his eyes and the widening of his pupils that the poppy syrup was beginning to take full effect. He would sleep for a few hours, which was just what his body required for healing.

  “Come on, Blake. “ She steered him toward the door. “I’ll see you to your pallet and make sure your blanket is warm enough. Then I’ll ask Todd to look in on you later.”

  “Thank you, my lady. You are kind, kinder than anyone has been to me since my mother died.”

  Dain joined Emma in the lord’s chamber that night, but she could discern no warmth or tenderness in him. Icy, blue-green fire lurked in his eyes, and his mouth had a familiar hard look to it. He directed so fierce a stare at Hawise that the maidservant turned to Emma in concern.

  “It’s all right,” Emma said in an undertone. “Go to your room and close the door. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “What are you whispering about?” Dain asked.

  “I was only dismissing Hawise for the night.” Emma approached him, smiling, both hands extended. “Dain, I want to thank you for shielding both Blake and me today. It was kind of you.”

  “It was no more than my duty.”

  “I am sorry, my lord, but you do seem to be caught between mother and wife, whether you wish it or not. Can you suggest any method I might employ to lessen Lady Richenda’s intense dislike of me?”

  ”You could leave Penruan forever,” Dain said, “or you could die. Those are the only two remedies I know of to placate her.”

  “Do you want me to leave?” It hurt her to ask the question, but Emma had to know what Dain would say. His remark about her dying sent a cold chill up her spine.

  ”What I want does not matter,” Dain said. “You are here because I agreed to accept the king’s judgment.”

  “Did Lady Richenda also agree?”

  “Not she. Not ever. She will hate your family until the end of her life.”

  “Do you hate me, Dain?”

  “I wish to heaven I could. It would be so much easier if I hated you.” There was pain in his face, and a smoldering desire that flared and glowed as he inspected her from head to foot. She was wearing only her shift and her hair was not entirely braided, since Hawise was not finished with it when Dain appeared. Dain had begun removing his clothes immediately upon entering the room.

  “No,” he said, pulling off his hose and standing naked before her. “I don’t hate you, as you can see for yourself.”

  “What, then?” Emma asked. She refused to look at his erect male flesh. She persisted in gazing directly into his eyes, for she wanted more from him than lust.

  “This.” He caught her about the waist and pulled her hard against him. “And this.” His mouth bruised hers.

  “Dain.” At first she struggled a little, but the truth was, she did not want to fight him. She opened her mouth, accepting his punishing kiss, weaving her fingers through his hair. She did not even protest when he picked her up, dropped her onto the bed, and lay on top of her.

  She knew he was angry about the dispute between his mother and herself, and thus she did not expect tenderness from him, so she was surprised when, despite his anger, he took care not to hurt her. He handled her expertly, warming her flesh with his hands and his mouth until her body was ready to receive him. Then he took her swiftly, with a cold, hard passion that made Emma’s heart ache and sent tears spilling across her cheeks.

  She attained a brief release when Dain stroked deep within her one last time, but it was simply a matter of her body functioning in response to his skill. Her heart and her soul were not involved as they had been during their previous lovemaking, and when Dain withdrew from her to lie beside her with one arm thrown over his eyes she did not know what to say or do to bridge the chasm between them.

  Dain lay still, keeping his arm over his eyes so he would not have to look at Emma and show her the shame that must be revealed in his gaze. He was filled with shame, overflowing with disgust at himself and his actions. Emma deserved better from him than to be used as a device to relieve his rage. She had patiently endured his mother’s hostility and sharp tongue. Except for her declaration that she was not her husband’s enemy, Emma’s words to Lady Richenda had all been for Robert’s sake, and for Blake’s protection. Dain refused to believe there was any evil in Emma’s herbal cures. Sloan praised her competence and kindness, Blake was devoted to her, even Agatha approved of her.

  As his rage slowly ebbed, long years of strict training intruded on his thoughts, making him angry all over again because of his weakness toward an enemy whom he ought to despise. Emma was the cause of the present dissension between himself and his mother. His immediate problems were entirely Emma’s fault.

  And yet, she was so openhearted and fair, so kind and affectionate, so accepting of him and his uncertain temper. Dain’s inner conflict became so strong that he shivered before he could force himself to lie still.

  ”Dain?”

  Emma’s voice was soft and low-pitched. He could tell by the movements beside him that she was sitting up and probably looking at him, so he kept his eyes covered – and cursed himself for a coward for doing so.

  “What is it?” He tried to sound cold and uninterested, when what he really longed to do was gaze into her wonderful eyes and beg her to forgive him for treating her as if her heart did not matter. He wanted to take her into his arms again and make love to her, and do it properly this time, so they could both rediscover the soaring joy they had known at their first joining. There had been no joy in the crude coupling just finished. There had only been a brief moment of relative calm at the end for him, and he suspected it was the same for her. He was afraid to ask her if that was true. Asking would reveal weakness, and he must remember always that Emma had the potential to be a danger to him and to his people. When he was with her, he must appear strong and certain of himself.

  “May I ask a question?” she said, sounding distinctly unsure of herself.

  “You may ask,” he said, marveling at her bravery in the face of his frequent rejection. “Whether I choose to answer or not will depend upon what the question is.” He braced himself for a subtle query about the strength of Penruan, or a request to have family members visit her, so they’d have an opportunity to spy on him.

  “Why does your mother hate and fear Agatha?”

  “What?” Startled out of suspicion and deliberate coldness, he took his arm from his eyes to stare at her.

  Emma looked back at him, all soft eyes and tumbling night-black hair and skin like rich cream, and Dain wanted her with a need that nearly shattered him, because it suddenly occurred to him that it wasn’t just her beautiful body he craved. He wanted Emma to love him; he wanted her heart. He didn’t know how to ask for her love, or how he would deal with it if she gave him such a priceless treasure. Nor did he know how to love in return. His entire life was devoted to hatred, to the quest for vengeance. Or it had been, until Emma’s arrival.

  He could tell she expected him to respond to her question about his mother and Agatha, so he said the first thing that came to his mind, not pausing to consider the words he spoke until they hung in the air between himself and his wife like dark, glittering jewels that contained the essence of a truth he did not want to admit.

  “My mother fears nothing except the wrath of God,” Dain said.

  “Not so.”
Emma’s gaze was steady. “She is afraid of Agatha. I saw and heard the fear in Lady Richenda this afternoon, when she thought Agatha had come to the castle during her absence.”

  “You may be right,” Dain said slowly, considering. “Fear may be a part of the reason why she hates Agatha so much. How odd that I never thought about her reasons until this hour.”

  “What was the original cause of their dispute?” Emma asked.

  “I don’t really know.” Dain pushed himself up to sit against the pillows, so his eyes were level with Emma’s. “I have always assumed they differed because Agatha avoids attending church, and my mother is deeply religious. Yet, Agatha and Father Maynard always meet on friendly terms. There is no hostility at all between them.

  “Whatever began the quarrel,” Dain continued, “it happened long ago, while I was still a small child. My only reliable memory of that time is of the day when my father died.” Dain frowned, trying to recapture another memory that slipped away even as his mind grasped at it. He rubbed at his forehead, where a dull ache was beginning.

  “How did Lord Halard die?” Emma asked.

  “He lost an arm in his last battle with Udo,” Dain said. “He never fully recovered from the wound, and he finally died a few years later, when I was just five years old.” He lapsed into silence, trying to recall what else it was that tugged at his memory. The headache grew worse.

  As if she understood that sympathy from her would be unacceptable, Emma said nothing more. She just laid a hand on Dain’s bare shoulder.

  “If you want to know what set my mother and Agatha against each other,” he said, “ask Agatha. I am sure my mother will never tell you.”

  He could have taken her into his arms at that point and possessed her again. His body was more than willing, and he did not think she would refuse him. But if he took her while his mind was bemused by thoughts of his dead father and his eternally vengeful mother, there was a strong possibility that he would not find this time, either, the complete happiness he had discovered with Emma the first night they lay together.

  “It was an illusion,” he said, fighting his seductive memories of that night.

  “What was?” Emma asked, looking puzzled at the change of subject.

  “Be on your guard with Agatha,” he warned, ignoring her question. “I know I should have been more careful with her.”

  “I am sure Agatha would never harm anyone, least of all you. She loves you and wants you to be happy.”

  “Is that why she gave me herb-tainted wine to drink?” he demanded angrily.

  Emma’s mouth dropped open, her eyes large and round, and Dain was so wickedly pleased with the effect his question had produced that he went on to reveal all of the story.

  “Agatha knew full well I had no intention of ever consummating our marriage, and she knew why I would not. Still, she fed me herbs in my wine, herbs that sent me into a state of desire I could not control.”

  “I do not know of any herbs that can overcome a person’s own will,” Emma declared.

  “You may not know of them, but Agatha most assuredly does. The herbs are the reason why I rode to Penruan so precipitously, in the dark of night, to lie with you.”

  “Why was your desire only toward me?” Emma asked. “Why not toward any convenient woman? Surely, there is at least one woman in Trevanan who would lie with you most willingly, and thank you afterward for the favor bestowed upon her. Why did you come to me?”

  The question stopped his tongue. He could not tell Emma it was because, even before he drank the wine, his thoughts and his desire were already fixed on her, and her alone. He would not admit how much he had wanted her from the hour of their first meeting. But he could not hide the truth from himself.

  Emma seemed to understand his inner struggle. She asked no more questions. She just put her head on his shoulder and her arm across his waist and lay quietly beside him. After a while, he knew she was asleep.

  Dain could not sleep, not even after the pain in his head eased into a numb blankness that blocked out something important that he knew he ought to remember. He lay staring at the gray stone wall opposite the bed, not seeing it, seeing nothing but a series of conflicting images within his mind, until the candles guttered out and darkness enveloped him.

  In the morning Dain was gone before Emma awoke. On his pillow lay a blue-green bead, large as the tip of Emma’s little finger, and the exact shade of Dain’s eyes.

  Chapter 9

  “Eight servants are sick,” Hawise said to Emma, “and twelve men-at-arms. The garderobes are all overcrowded this morning. I think it’s because our food became tainted from sitting on the tables too long. Every dish was cold when we ate it.”

  “It is possible that spoiled food caused the illness,” Emma said, “or it could be that Lady Richenda’s retainers brought some illness home with them from Tawton Abbey. Are any of them sick?”

  “Only two, my lady. Personally, I am glad I ate just a bit of bread and a chunk of cheese last night. It’s a most unpleasant sickness,” Hawise said.

  “I will make an infusion of mint leaves and willow bark,” Emma said. “Tell anyone who feels the need of medicine to come to me in the stillroom.”

  “They are sick of their own gluttony,” Lady Richenda said in unconcealed disgust when she heard of all the digestive upsets. “The men-at-arms swill ale like pigs wallowing in their troughs, and they always overeat. What else can be expected but illness after such behavior? They don’t deserve any remedy. Let them recover as best they can.”

  Emma thought a little compassion ought to be expected from the lord’s mother, but she held her tongue. She was glad to see Dain had come to the great hall in apparent good health, if not in good spirits.

  Blake was up and moving about the great hall, limping a little and basking in the voluble approval of the younger squires for the way he was dealing with his first real wound.

  Blake gave full credit to Emma for his rapid recovery, and his adoration of her shone in his young face every time he looked at her.

  “He ought to love me,” Lady Richenda said to Dain as they gathered for the midday meal. “Me, and not that troublesome girl who is attempting to usurp my position.”

  “You cannot force Blake to love you,” Dain said in a voice that suggested he was weary of arguing with his mother. “Love comes where and when it will.”

  “What do you know of love?” Lady Richenda exclaimed scornfully. “All you have experienced is the urge to rut like a beast in the field. And what did it get you, tell me that! Nothing but a bastard son, and why you should grieve for him, I will never understand.”

  “No, Mother, you don’t understand,” Dain said.

  “Love, as opposed to lust, is holy, sacred, and far removed from the desires of the flesh,” Lady Richenda told him. “So I have always taught you, and I wish you would remember it.”

  “I do require an heir,” Dain said. “Surely you understand my reasoning. I have a grown-up, willing wife, and I need an heir.”

  “Consummating your marriage was not part of your original plan!” Lady Richenda screeched at him. “Oh, very well, then, go spend your lust on your enemy’s daughter. Get her with child, if that is what you want. Afterward, you can devote yourself to more exalted objectives – preferably, the destruction of her family.”

  Emma was finding it difficult to keep her promise to herself not to quarrel with Lady Richenda again. She was forced to clamp her teeth together to prevent herself from speaking. She was heartened by the sympathetic glances she received from Sloan and Todd, and from a few other men-at-arms and some of the squires and servants. Hawise stood firmly behind her, waiting until Emma was seated at the high table before seeking her own place at one of the lower tables. And Blake came to her and took her hand, a gesture that earned him a scowl from Lady Richenda.

  Once again Emma was unable to eat more than a bite or two of the midday meal. Feeling the need to get away from the castle, she told Dain she was planning to s
pend the afternoon searching for wild herbs and did not mention her intent to go alone. Blake’s leg was still too sore for much walking, and Hawise had a full basket of mending to do. Emma slipped through the main gate with a wave for Todd, who was on sentry duty, and headed for the path that would take her down the cliff face to the beach.

  The wind from the sea was brisk, blowing foam off the tops of the waves, sending the sand into little swirls around Emma’s feet. She went to the water’s edge and stood there with her face into the wind, letting it blow irritation and unhappiness out of her mind. Then she began to walk along the beach in the direction of Trevanan.

  She quickly reached the outcropping of rocks that divided the cove below Penruan Castle from the next, smaller cove. The tide was just beginning to ebb, and as Emma came to the rocks the water washed seaward, leaving wet sand. She hurried around the rocks and into the little cove before the next wave rolled in. In one hand she held the basket she always carried when she ventured out to gather herbs, and she told herself she was in the cove only to pick a fresh supply of samphire.

  “No, be honest, Emma,” she scolded herself. “You are here because you want to explore the cave again, to discover if there are more footprints in the sand. There is nothing to fear. No ghost, no demon or spirit of air or water, could possibly be more fearsome than Lady Richenda’s hatred or Dain’s cold anger. Besides, everyone to whom I mention the lady in white claims she is a good spirit, so if I meet her perhaps she will impart some useful advice. Advice or no, it would be lovely to meet someone who would listen to me without despising who I am.”

  She headed for the rock behind which lay the cave entrance. As she had done the last time, she left her basket behind in order to get through the narrow opening. The first thing she noticed about the damp sand in the outer chamber of the cave was the footprints where there had been no prints on her previous visit. They were large prints, some made by bare feet and others made by someone wearing boots.