Lynn Wood - Norman Brides 03

by The Promise Keeper

  “You believe she was possessed?”

  “No. The act of possession implies the taking over of another soul’s physical form without his or her consent. In this case, the maid allowed herself to be used as a vehicle to facilitate such communication with, well, whatever the source of such communication was.”

  Michel nodded. “All right, we are in agreement that the maid’s performance was not feigned. Let us move for a moment beyond the church’s teachings on the matter. What then is your opinion of the curse as a native Caleinian?”

  This time there was no hesitation on the other man’s part. “Whether concocted by evil men or from a more elusive source, the curse is real and its effects have been well-documented in Caleinian history.”

  “Well-documented, how?” Michel leaned forward in his chair. This was what he had come here for.

  The bishop regarded him with a speculative look in his eyes. “Have you not researched your own family’s history?”

  “How would I do that?” Michel enquired.

  “I would imagine there is no shortage of official records at the keep. The church keeps its own.” At Michel inquiring expression, he added, “I am certain you are aware the church is often called upon to act as a guardian of such documents. While there is little official documentation in the church’s records in reference to the curse, there still exist old family bibles and a scrupulous documentation of the royal bloodlines.”

  Michel felt his excitement rising. “Where are these records?”

  “In the cathedral library. I would be happy to share them with you or give them to you, if that is your wish. They are, after all, a history of your family, and whatever records are in the church’s possession more rightfully belong to you.”

  “Thank you, John, but I believe I would prefer the church retain its guardianship over the old records of my house. I would however like to spend some time familiarizing myself with what they contain and to see if there are any references to the curse on the royal family.”

  “Perhaps I can save you some time. I imagine you are particularly interested in discovering if there is any reference in the records the church maintains as to the daughter of the moon and/or the heart of the sun.”

  “Yes,” Michel held his breath in anticipation or the other man’s response.

  “Regretfully not.” At Michel’s obvious disappointment, the other man added, “As a native Caleinian I have a vested interest in seeing to the end of the curse. When I was first appointed to my current position, I spent several months researching all of the references I could find in the church’s records to the royal family and the curse, but regrettably I found nothing helpful or I would have certainly shared my findings with King Barnabas.”

  Michel nodded, not surprised the solution to the riddle would not so easily present itself. It made sense that Barnabas and the prior kings had already followed his same line of reasoning.

  The two men lapsed into a companionable silence, and then the bishop commented, “You mentioned there was another matter you wished to discuss with me?”

  Sighing, Michel pulled his thoughts away from his family’s checkered history and back into the present. “Yes.”

  At the bishop’s inquiring brow, Michel added reluctantly, “Elena.”

  “Yes of course. What is it you wished to discuss with me in regards to Lady Elena?”

  Michel hesitated then commented, “An unmarried maid cannot continue to live indefinitely under my roof.”

  His companion nodded, “Agreed. May I speak frankly?”

  “Please.”

  “Then, Michel, I would tell you that there is every expectation in the city that Lady Elena will not remain unmarried for long.”

  “There is the expectation that I will marry her.”

  Even though his words were not voiced as a question but as a statement of fact the bishop offered his confirmation, “Yes.”

  Michel nodded. “I am in somewhat of an awkward position.”

  His companion’s lips twitched at Michel’s admission, “You speak perhaps of the lady’s warm feelings for you?” Michel raised his brow at the bishop’s obvious amusement at his expense. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but it is very apparent to anyone who has seen Lady Elena in your company that she regards you as the beginning and end of her very existence.”

  “She’s very young,” Michel excused, feeling his cheeks flush at the bishop’s extravagant description.

  “Yes, and you have been no less than a heroic figure in her young eyes.”

  “Be that as it may,” Michel began with a rueful sigh, “Elena is still very young, perhaps too young to truly know her feelings in such matters. She has been through an ordeal. She was kidnapped from her bed and recently lost her uncle, the only father she has any memory of, after a long and protracted illness. It is not all that surprising she would develop a crush on the man who rescued her.”

  The bishop shook his head, denying Michel’s explanation, “I think, Your Highness, you are over complicating the matter. Lady Elena’s feelings for you are not those of a young girl’s crush, but of a woman in love.”

  “Even if what you say is true, would it not be wrong of me to marry her and subject her to the very well-documented curse that besets the royal bloodlines?”

  “I see your point and honor you for it, but I think in this case, it would be a far greater cruelty to spurn the lady’s love and leave her wondering at the cause of your disinterest in her.”

  After a long moment, Michel nodded and gained his feet. “You’ve given me a great deal to consider. I thank you for your honesty.”

  “It has been my pleasure, Michel, both as your bishop and your subject. I am relieved to see the kingship of my homeland in such competent and caring hands.”

  Michel nodded and held out his hand. The bishop clasped it and released it and the two men turned towards the exit. “Will you want to see the records housed in the cathedral library before you leave?”

  “No, not right now anyway. If you’ve already researched them, I think my time would be better served seeking out the maid Rowena, or preferably, her grandmother, if she is sufficiently recovered to receive my visit. Perhaps she will be able to shed some additional light on this mystery.”

  “I don’t disagree,” the bishop concurred, “And if you don’t mind my forwardness, Your Highness, I would be very interested to hear what you learn.”

  Grinning at the other man’s eager curiosity, Michel nodded. “I will see to it you are among the first to know what, if anything, I am able to discover.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Michel wasn’t certain what to expect when the following afternoon he sought an interview with the local witch, but it certainly wasn’t to find her neat cottage, indistinguishable from any of its neighbors on a quiet street with spring flowers framing a pretty, well-kept entrance. He smilingly shook off his guard’s approach in the direction of the door to announce his arrival to the inhabitants, thinking the veteran soldier appeared very ill-at-ease at the prospect of knocking on a witch’s door. It said much about his own experiences lately that Michel could summon no similar unease at the prospect of seeking advice from the local witch.

  Smiling at the thought, Michel stepped forward and rapped sharply on the door. A few moments later Rowena appeared in the doorway.

  “Your Highness?!” Recovering quickly from her astonishment, she curtseyed before him.

  “Maid Rowena, forgive my unannounced visit. I stopped by to inquire if your grandmother was recovered from her recent illness, and if so, I hoped she was up to answering a few questions.”

  “Please come in,” Rowena offered, and stepping back added hesitantly, her color high in her cheeks, “My grandmother is much better. I am certain she would be honored to answer your questions, Your Highness.”

  Michel followed Rowena through the small home and then back out of doors to the garden in the rear where he glimpsed an older woman, who he assumed must be Rowena’s grandmother, t
ending neat rows of newly emerging fragile seedlings.

  “Mesme, King Michel has honored us with a visit,” Rowena announced.

  The older woman rose and turned in their direction, her eyes immediately and frankly meeting Michel’s curious blue gaze across the width of the small patch of yard. A noticeable silence descended between them as they each took the other’s measure. Michel noted out of the corner of his eye Rowena stood a few steps away wringing her hands together in a nervous gesture.

  Finally his host executed a minimal curtsey; a generous man might attribute to her advanced age, and with a sparkle in her eyes nodded in his direction. “Your Highness. Welcome to our humble home. How may I serve you?”

  “Thank you for your gracious welcome. May I assume you’ve recovered fully from your recent illness?”

  A slight shrug as the older woman approached where he waited with her granddaughter. “There are some afflictions one never fully recovers from,” she replied philosophically and then added, “I can see your own injury still plagues you. Come inside and let me give you something to ease your pain.”

  Michel stepped aside to allow the two women to precede him back into the small cottage. “That is very kind of you, but sometimes I wonder if the pain of the wound lingers because I have not yet learned completely the consequences of my own foolishness in trusting the pledge of a false friend.”

  The older woman’s discerning glance probed his. “That is a painful lesson indeed for one so young to learn, and one I think a soul never fully recovers from, but there is no need for you to carry the burden of your injury along with your regret at not foreseeing it. Come sit. Allow me to offer you this service in return for your gentle welcome of my granddaughter the night I sent her to the keep in my stead.”

  Michel took the proffered stool in front the table set up near the hearth, but protested, “It is I who am indebted to this house and not the other way around.”

  “You give me hope, my king,” she replied somewhat mysteriously then busied herself in the kitchen taking herbs and such from the various array of jars on one of the shelves attached to the wall near the hearth. Rowena lit a fire and set a metal kettle to boiling above it, to which her grandmother added the herbs she retrieved. Immediately a pungent but not unpleasant fragrance filled the room. It reminded Michel of the newly tilled earth on a summer day, with the manure from the animals used to sweeten the soil and prepare it for the seeds that would be planted there. “This must simmer for several minutes. In the meantime, tell me, my king, how I may serve you.”

  Michel indicated his hostess should join him at her table and she did so, motioning with a silent gesture for Rowena to leave them alone. “I imagine you have already deduced why I am here. I seek information on the curse that besets the king’s blood.”

  “Yes, you are correct, I had concluded as much, which is why I sent Rowena away. She is young yet and I try to protect her from the weight of the burden that will one day fall upon her at my passing from this world, though I was unable to do so the evening you ascended to the throne.”

  “Forgive me. It was not my intent to burden her. I was not aware of that particular tradition prior to its being thrust upon my unsuspecting shoulders.”

  His companion laughed with true amusement. “No doubt it came as something of a surprise to you.”

  Michel thrust a hand through his hair and admitted wryly, “That is understating the case somewhat.”

  “Perhaps those who convinced you to return to Calei and claim your grandfather’s throne were unwilling to present too grave a picture of the challenges you would be forced to contend with upon your arrival. Though by all accounts, my young king, you have dispensed with the most pressing trials with remarkable ease, courage and grace.”

  “Thank you. I fully expected to contend with the living in order to claim my birthright. In fact, I spent my entire life preparing for just such an opportunity, I am afraid my skill with a blade and as a leader and trainer of men are useless weapons in a struggle against an ancient curse, the origin of which appears to have passed beyond the reach of the memories of the living.”

  “Yes, a sharp blade, no matter how skillfully wielded is not the proper response to every challenge. I am afraid I cannot help you with the origin of the curse, as my own blood has ever acted only as the messengers of the clue you received the evening you ascended to your birthright.”

  “Blood of your blood has always served as the vessels through which the clue is offered to each new king?” Michel asked curiously.

  His hostess shrugged one frail shoulder, “It is not as though the new kings have much choice in the matter. There are so few of us left who remember and still practice the ancient ways.”

  “Is there nothing more you can tell me?” Michel urged. He got the impression the older woman knew more than she was willing to admit to.

  “What did the elder say to you?”

  “The elder?”

  “Our name for those who utilize our services in the manner Rowena demonstrated the evening the clue was given to you.”

  Michel nodded and repeated everything he could remember from the night in question.

  His hostess listened intently and leaned back from the table, apparently in intense concentration, her focus on Michel’s face never wavering. “You were given more than your predecessors, my king, whether you know it or not. The elders, I think, were hopeful your grandfather would bring about a resolution of the curse, but alas, we both know how that hope ended.”

  Michel’s glance narrowed. “Yes, the elder indicated as much, but then he said something about my grandfather not knowing what he held in his grasp.”

  “You didn’t mention that earlier. When did he say that? What exactly was he referring to?”

  Michel thought back to the interview with the mysterious voice, trying to recall the exact words of their exchange. “His comment followed his mention of my grandfather returning to Calei with my grandmother. Something to the effect of him returning with his young bride and about how Nathaniel never understood what he held in his grasp…that is as close as I remember.”

  “He mentioned your grandmother specifically? I am certain you are aware your grandfather was married before and fathered two sons.”

  “Yes, both of whom were killed before he married my grandmother.”

  “Yes, but the mention of returning with his young bride must refer to Queen Alyssa. Your grandfather’s first wife was a native of Calei.”

  Michel fell silent, his hand idly fingering the Salusian stone around his neck as was his habit lately.

  “The amulet you wear. There is something vaguely familiar about it.”

  Michel dropped his hand away from the stone. “You probably remember seeing it around my grandmother’s neck. The stone is a family heirloom of her line. It is known now as the Salusian stone and passes through the eldest daughter of my grandmother’s blood.”

  “Yet it is in your possession?”

  Michel nodded. “As a temporary steward only. The stone belongs to my twin sister, Melissa. She urged me to wear it when I returned to Calei. I am afraid there is a fair amount of superstition attached to it. The stone is rumored to possess mysterious powers, though I have seen no evidence of such. It’s funny though, I believe the elder mentioned something about the stone that night.”

  “Indeed? Your earlier account made no mention of the stone.”

  Michel’s lips kicked up at the older woman’s impatience with his omission. “I only just recalled his interest in it. Frankly at that point I had lost the stone and was somewhat worried about confessing my sin to my sister and grandmother, as you will recall the stone is only temporarily in my possession. But the elder told me not to concern myself about its loss and that the stone had found its way into trustworthy hands.”

  “And whose hands did the elder deem trustworthy?”

  “Lady Elena’s,” Michel supplied.

  “Lady Elena restored your family heirloom to you?”<
br />
  “Yes, I lost it in a stream in the mountains while bathing. It must have become embedded in the mud on the bank. Elena unearthed it and returned it to me the night I was wounded.”

  “A deadly wound, many feared, my king.”

  “Yes, but fortunately it proved otherwise.”

  “And still you doubt the powers of the stone?”

  Michel laughed at his companion’s implication. “You believe the stone had a hand in my recovery?”

  The older woman shrugged. “It is obvious, Your Highness, that you do not, but I would not be too quick to dismiss the stone’s place in unravelling your destiny. Did not the elder refer to it? Did you assume his remark about the stone and your grandmother’s arrival were merely idle chatter on his part? Or the comment he made about your treasure being in trustworthy hands? Trust me, Your Highness; the elders do not make idle comments. He was giving you further clues to the riddle you seek to undo, but you dismissed them as unimportant. If you would discover what you need to know, dwell carefully on what you were told…on everything you were told that night. Write it down. Ascertain with the other witnesses that you have not forgotten even the smallest detail. My heart tells me you are close, closer perhaps than any of your predecessors have been over the long march of years. I think you must seek first the daughter of the moon. She will lead you to the heart of the sun.”

  Michel felt the mysterious force of her words settle around him. Once again he suspected his hostess knew more than she was willing to share with him, but even so, she’d given him a great deal to consider. “I will take your advice to write down and consider everything I was told that night. Thank you for your kind assistance.” When Michel would have risen from his stool, she quickly waved him back down to his seat and jumped nimbly to her feet. She hurried over to the stove and stirred the mixture she was brewing with a wooden spoon, before lifting the spoon from the kettle and sampling a small amount with her finger.