Lowering the nightgown, Kate traces adoring fingers gently over the hand-stitched embroidery. ‘You have to acknowledge your gift.’ Her eyes find mine across the room and her voice hardens. ‘Because you have to use your powers to defeat him!’
‘Kate … Don’t start …’
She tosses the nightgown to the bed angrily. ‘How can you not believe in yourself after all we’ve been through? Look at where we are! A real life castle in medieval Britain! Doesn’t that tell you something? You have to admit now that Jillian can perform magic and yes, there is a curse on you. You just spent the evening with the man who created it!’ She pauses while I absorb this. ‘Stop and think, Jarrod. Let yourself believe. I’ve been right so far, all the way. Just maybe I’m right about your gift too!’
I try to do what she says, let myself believe. But it’s just so hard. My life has been one hard knock after another, how can I suddenly start believing that I’m endowed with incredible magical powers? The idea is beyond me.
‘Look,’ she tries again. ‘It could be possible that you have inherited Rhauk’s own powers.’
I glance at her earnestly. What is she saying?
‘That could make you at least as powerful, if not more so. The possibility is there.’
‘Why Rhauk?’
She looks exasperated. ‘Remember your father’s heritage book. You are directly descended from these people. If Rhauk did kidnap Lionel’s young bride and seduced or raped her, and you descended from that union …’ She lets the rest fade.
It’s enough though to make me see what she means. There is sorcery in my ancestry. I saw it tonight with my own eyes. ‘God, you could be right.’
She smiles, motions for me to turn around. While I do, I hear her changing into her nightgown. When I turn around she’s climbed into bed. The fire is dying and the air is getting chilly. I change briskly and climb in beside her.
This time something’s different. She doesn’t cringe or anything, neither does she roll towards the furthest side of the bed. I don’t think she wants to be alone tonight. Rhauk really shook her up. And if it’s just company she’s after, someone to comfort her when the fire dies and the shadows lengthen, then that’s fine with me.
So we sit with our backs against the magnificently carved timber headpiece, quietly aware of each other but in a comfortable way. ‘If I do have these powers, how would I, um, tap into them?’
She lifts my hand between both of hers. Her fingers are warm. ‘All you have to do is concentrate.’
‘That sounds easy enough.’
Kate’s lips curve downwards. ‘Well, it’s not really. It takes time and a lot of practice. You have to train. Hard.’
This makes sense, only I wonder just how much time do we have?
I feel her probe, gently at first, inside my head. She’s trying to sense my feelings. It will be easy to feel the doubts and fears. Her probe deepens. I reach a point where I want to block her, and this realisation suddenly hits me – I’ve blocked her before, and Jillian said that most people can’t even tell Kate is in their heads. I can, and I can block her if I want to. Is this proof that I have abilities beyond the norm?
I look into her eyes and feel her probe deepen. She doesn’t look away; and the moment becomes intense. It’s an amazing feeling, having Kate in my head, sensing my emotions while maintaining eye contact. It’s like we’re naked or something, our emotional secrets lying bare to each other’s observation. Wordlessly we continue to share our feelings. And the intensity increases.
Finally she speaks, and her voice is croaky. ‘You’d better kiss me.’
I nod and swallow the sudden lump in my throat.
We kiss and slide down the pillows and keep kissing, forgetting everything – where we are, when we are, what we’re supposed to be doing here. Kate feels fantastic. I acknowledge on some higher level that we are made for each other.
‘Jarrod,’ she murmurs.
‘Hmm?’
‘I’m afraid.’
Her words make me stop. For starters, they’re so out of character. Kate is always in control, even when she’s upset or angry. She never loses her head. I understand she’s really worried. She’s thinking of Rhauk’s parting words. I wish there was something I could say to make her feel better, safer. I glance up into her face. Her beautiful crystalline eyes look large and frightened. She reminds me of a new-born foal, all wobbly legs and unsure of itself. Her pale skin is even paler than usual, almost translucent in the dying light of the fire. I lightly brush my lips across her eyelids, her cheeks, overwhelmed with a fierce feeling of wanting to protect.
‘I need you to hold me,’ she says softly. ‘All night, OK?’
I promise with my eyes ’cause I know my voice is unreliable right now.
‘Promise you won’t let me go, Jarrod. Not for a second.’
Her words move me in a way I’ve never felt before. I lean over her, my hands on either side of her head, and kiss her mouth. ‘I promise,’ I croak, meaning every word.
A distant squawk pierces the still night, but neither of us recognises the sound as danger at first. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I register the noise, but it’s only when the demanding squawking sounds come from inside our tower room a few moments later, that I understand. It’s the crow. Rhauk’s. Peering at us from the window ledge, making angry noises to get our attention.
I stare at this obtrusive intruder. ‘Kate, it’s Rhauk’s crow.’
Its head lowers slightly, tilting sideways as if listening to – and comprehending – our conversation.
‘No,’ Kate whispers, her lips trembling. ‘I don’t think …’
The crow moves closer. ‘Have you ever seen anything so large!’
Kate’s eyes never leave the massive crow. ‘The eyes …’ she whispers.
The fire is almost out, so light in the tower room is dim, filled with flickering shadows, but nothing can disguise the crow’s eyes. For they are not crow’s eyes at all. But human. Too much like Rhauk’s. Black and cold.
Before either of us moves, the large crow with Rhauk’s knowing eyes lunges. I throw myself completely over Kate. The crow’s talons dig into my back, ripping my nightshirt to shreds in a vicious assault to move me. I try to shake it off, without shifting from Kate, but the bird beats at me with its sharp talons and flapping wings, all the while squawking and shrieking. My senses fill with its scent – bird-like, yet impassioned with human revenge. Blood oozes out of my back where its talons dig deeply. I hit at it with my elbows, back, head, kick at it with my heels. Anything to shake it off. This far up the tower I wonder if anyone can hear what’s going on and come to help.
A wind starts that soon becomes fierce. At first I think this wind is exactly what we need, but I soon realise it has no effect on the attacking bird. If anything, it seems to incite it.
Kate squirms beneath me, tries throwing her fists at the monstrous thing at my back. It grins at our attempts, seeing them as feeble, and starts intensely now, pecking with its pointed beak at an artery in my throat. It doesn’t once harm Kate, yet its purpose is clear. It’s trying to get to Kate.
Blood trickles from my throat, on to Kate’s white nightgown. She screams at the sight. ‘Jarrod, you’re bleeding!’
‘I’m all right, don’t struggle. I won’t let it get to you.’
‘It might want me, but it doesn’t mind killing you in the process. You have to do something!’
‘What, for goodness’ sake?’
‘Use your gift!’
‘I don’t know how!’
Panic is not going to help. I jerk my arm and shoulder trying to dislodge the thing off my back, the hole in my neck now spurting out blood. The crow lifts momentarily, giving me a much needed second to breathe, but then it dives, catches me under my shoulder and in one powerful thrust, knocks me to the ground.
In my heart I realise that I’ve lost this battle. That I’ve lost Kate. The massive crow takes my place over Kate. I throw my body’s weight at it,
trying to wrench it off, but nothing works. It’s like the bird is made of steel and I am made of feathers. Kate screams, and the sound resounds in my skull like the echo of a thousand chimes clanging together. The wind increases, becomes cyclonic. Hissing, it works against me, pushing me back. I have to fight through it to get to them. The crow’s wings spread wide and embrace Kate, covering her. Like steel braces, the crow’s wings close completely around Kate’s body and lift her. The crow hovers for just a second over the bed, its black eyes locking with mine, gloating. Then it moves in a graceful motion, through a north-facing window, Kate tucked neatly within its wings.
Although it should be too awkward and cumbersome, the crow flies like this, with Kate trapped inside its incredible wings. I race to the window, reaching out to the escaping bird, lunging until I half fall out. For a second I have her feet, but they slip through my fingers. Kate’s screams recede as the crow flies in the direction of Blacklands.
My head falls back, a feeling of utter despair pulses through me. The door smashes open. Richard with Isabel, the young maid, Morgana, Malcolm, Thomas and Emmeline, burst through all in stages of undress, demanding to know what is going on. They heard Kate’s screams, tried to climb the tower’s spiral staircase, but hundreds of bats attacked them on the way, stalling them, Isabel explains.
It’s Rhauk’s magic, I realise. ‘He took Kate – Katherine,’ I finally breathe, dropping to the bed, depleted. There is so much blood smeared over my back, neck and chest, it’s difficult to tell from where exactly it is coming.
‘How could this happen?’ Isabel cries. ‘We doubled the watch tonight, with extra guards posted around the bailey.’
Weak with loss of blood, I sway towards the floor, grab the bedpost and lean my head against it. ‘He was the crow.’
‘Then it is true,’ Richard hisses, crossing himself, his eyes shifting in the direction of Blacklands, looking dazed. ‘For many years we knew of his evil and trickery.’ His focus comes back to me. ‘That night he kidnapped your mother, Lionel said it was a crow. Black, with Rhauk’s eyes. None of us believed him, just thought Lionel had temporarily lost his wits.’ He shakes his head wearily. ‘What sort of brother am I? I should have given my body and soul to protect them. And now my nephew follows the same fate.’
I shake my head at the man, unable to share his pain of guilt. My own thoughts are with Kate. Her fate, at the hands of a dangerous madman.
Morgana comes to me with a bowl of water and bits of rag. She takes a piece, dips it in the water and attempts to wipe away some of the blood. I brush her away, unable to deal with anything other than the pain she can’t get to. Inside. ‘How can I think of myself when Katherine is with Rhauk right now?’
‘You have to let us treat your wounds, Jarrod,’ some soothing female voice croons. Emmeline’s I realise. ‘Morgana knows what to do. She’s the best healer in the highlands. And you can’t tackle Rhauk if you bleed to death first. What good would you be to Katherine then? You’ll need all your strength to rescue her.’
The girl is right, even though her voice sounds really false. I suddenly recall the force of that wind. It’s gone now, so I concentrate, just like Kate said. It starts, slowly at first, but enough for me to finally understand – the wind is mine!
Some internal strength I can’t as yet pinpoint has created it.
I focus even more intently. In seconds the wind gathers in magnitude until it ravages the room with the force of a hurricane. Nothing remains of the bedding, tapestries rip to shreds, Morgana’s slight body flies across the room, bowls and ornaments thrash about. I really do have a gift! This recognition is unbelievable, strengthening my concentration; and the wind increases amazingly more.
‘What’s happening!’ Richard cries, grasping a bedpost tightly to stop from being tossed around the room like the others.
I’ll have to tell them eventually as I’ll need their help, but I don’t want to scare them. And I don’t have the tolerance or knowledge to explain things I’m not even sure about myself. I’ll have to think of a way that won’t alarm them. But there’s only one thought in my head right now. Getting Kate back.
I push through the wind to the north-facing window and stand before it. ‘I will bring her back!’ I shout into the darkness.
I do this because I know Rhauk will be listening.
Kate
Even before I open my eyes I can tell it’s morning as the sun is bright, though weak with the chill of late autumn. There is a strong taste of salt in the air, the sound of crashing waves loud in my head. If only last night had been a dream – a nightmare. I could live with that. But as I force my eyes to reluctantly open, I see I’m not in the tower at Thorntyne Keep and Jarrod is nowhere to be seen.
Of course it wasn’t a dream. Who was I kidding? Scratches from last night’s battle with the crow are raised and red on the skin of my arm and on one side of my face. There’s blood on the front of my nightgown. Jarrod’s.
The room is quite beautiful really. The bed is covered in white satin. There are deep blue drapes at the windows, a wall-size tapestry of a hunting scene – horses, hounds and a black knight in full mail riding proudly on the back of a massive black stallion. It almost covers the entire opposite stone wall. There is a square of carpet on the floor beside a magnificent four-poster bed and a matching table with stool beneath the vivid tapestry. A ceramic washing bowl and urn adorn the table top.
I run to the window to see if there is any way I can climb down or jump. But it’s a straight drop, about three storeys high, over a jagged cliff face. The ocean, deep blue-green, smashes against sharp rocks below.
I sense Rhauk. The perception deep in my stomach scares me. Why am I so aware of him like this? Instinctively I understand that he knows I’ve woken and that he too is aware of me. Shivers break across my skin that have nothing to do with the fact that I’m only wearing a nightgown on a chilly autumn morning.
I spin around at the sound of his footsteps on the smooth timber floor. He has two pewter chalices in his hands. He sips from one, a drop of ruby red liquid hangs for a moment on his bottom lip, the other he extends to me, his voice sickeningly smug. ‘A celebration.’
Frowning, puzzled, I cross my arms over my chest. ‘Go to hell.’
His eyebrows lift as he draws near enough so that I can accept his offer of wine, and smell his pungent breath. ‘Not without you, my dear.’
Air forces itself out of my lungs; his determination is so steely. For a flash of a second I recall the pigman and his not-so-warm greeting on finding out Jarrod was a relative of Lord Richard’s. Pretending acceptance, I take the pewter chalice, draw in a mouthful of Rhauk’s sweet red wine, and spit it back in his face.
For a flash of a second Rhauk looks surprised and angry. I think he’s going to hit me, which doesn’t particularly worry me at this moment. I’m so worked up I’ll just hit him straight back, where it hurts, as hard as I can.
But he doesn’t react predictably at all. Instead he laughs, deep from his chest, pulls out a square of black satin from his tunic, and wipes his face without shaking the smirk. ‘We will make a formidable pair, you and I, my Lady.’
‘I want no part of your schemes. I won’t stay at Blacklands. Whatever you do to me, I’ll find a way to deceive you.’
‘No doubt you would.’
For a second his acknowledgment throws me. Is he acceding defeat? I doubt it. Obviously he has something devious planned. He walks across the room, places his pewter chalice on the table, studies the ceramic urn with such concentration you would think it was a photograph of his mother, then his penetrating eyes slide sideways. ‘There is only one way that Jarrod will stop me from generating my very clever curse.’
Sceptical, I agree to listen. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s simple really. A small swap.’
Dread tightens the air passages to my lungs. ‘What sort of swap?’
A cunning smile forms slowly on his determined face. ‘You, for the curse.’
‘No.’
‘A little more thought on it, I think, my pretty.’ ‘I don’t have to think about it. And don’t call me that.’
He scoffs, amused. ‘I will call you whatever I want. You have no say in it. You belong to me now.’
He moves closer, runs an ice-cold finger down the side of my face. I yank my head backwards. ‘Stay away from me.’
‘Oh I will, for now. You see, I will have to get over my disappointment. At first sight, I swore you were a virgin. Just like my Eloise was.’
I force myself not to react, not to break his illusion. Rhauk has superior senses, but must never find out Jarrod and I are not really married, nor even lovers. ‘So, now you know the truth, why do you still want me? Why not some innocent girl from the village?’
‘That’s simple, my Lady. I’ve had plenty of those and they bore me. But you, now that I’ve had a taste of your talents, take on new meaning for me. You will make the perfect Queen for Blacklands.’
He unnerves me completely. ‘How-how-how long will I have to stay with you?’
His smirk is an ugly grin. ‘I don’t take you for being naive, Lady Kate. This curse is for eternity. I only want you for the rest of your life.’ His black eyes bore into mine. ‘Sounds fair, don’t you think?’
I snort loudly. ‘What if I don’t agree?’
He shrugs. ‘Oh well, Jarrod will die.’
I can hardly breathe. My chest is aching. How I hate this man. He doesn’t just represent evil, he is evil. Maybe the rumours about him are true, and the devil’s blood does run in his veins.
‘He will come for you,’ he continues smugly. ‘It will be in the form of a challenge. Already he’s been making a nuisance of himself outside the gatehouse. But he is too weak, physically, and well, you know … in his mind.’
‘Jarrod was here?’
He looks bored. ‘He soon understood his pathetic attempts were useless. Not without something stronger than a handful of soldiers. His magic is unknown to his will, unexercised by his mind. His inexperience will be his downfall. That is, if he cares for you enough to make a challenge – one-on-one. Of course, there is always his delightful cousin to amuse him.’
Old Magic Page 19
