by Lynn Kurland
“I wish you could have seen him when we traveled on the continent. He was a most impressive sight, dressed all in black and red. And how much gold he earned, vanquishing others at tourneys! I was the most fortunate of lads to have him as my master. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for him.”
“He knows that, Jason,” Gillian said softly.
Jason’s smile faltered, as if he remembered why he had been so closemouthed.
“Aye, I know,” he replied, just as softly.
“He needs you just as much as he always has. I could never take your place with him.”
“I do not begrudge you his affection, my lady.”
Gillian laughed softly. “There is nothing to begrudge, Jason. Christopher loves you well and that you know.”
Jason sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “My only wish is that I might have spared him this trial he faces now.”
“Tell me of it,” she said, trying not to sound as curious as she was.
“It was an ill-fated year that stole his sight from him. I should have pleaded with him not to wed her, but I too was blinded by her beauty.”
Gillian stiffened. “A woman did this to him?”
“Nay, but his wedding her was the beginning of the troubles.”
“Tell me of her.”
“Her name was Magdalina of Berkhamshire.”
Gillian gasped. “Was she of Colin’s kin?”
“His sister. And she was as beautiful as Sir Colin is ugly. Pale haired and pale eyed, and with a face that could turn a man’s reasoning to mush in no time. My lord fell under her spell the moment he saw her, and she under his. Or so we thought. My lord could see no one but her. It was only a few months after his wedding that he was out riding and was overtaken and wounded. Her Ladyship was distraught, so distraught she wouldn’t speak to him, or go near him . . .”
Gillian had stopped listening. So Christopher’s first wife had been beautiful. And he had been able to see no one but her. No wonder. The man deserved a beautiful woman.
Something Gillian knew she would never be.
Or would she? Was there some way she could make herself beautiful? Not that Christopher would be able to see it, but others might tell him and that would please him.
And then he would love her as much as he’d loved his first wife.
She rose and left the solar, leaving Jason still babbling behind her. She walked down the passageway, then stopped when she heard female voices coming from inside one of the chambers.
“I bought a potion and you know how it worked.” A laugh followed that. “I haven’t had the peace to sleep in a se’nnight!”
“I paid for one too, though it tasted burned. But it worked well enough. Did you not mark how none of the men can stop looking at me?”
“And to think they live under the guise of midwives!”
“Aye,” the first laughed again. “Who would have thought a love potion could work so well?”
“Oh, tell me where they are,” a third voice pleaded. “I’ll give you each a coin if you do.”
There was a great deal of haggling, then forthcame the information Gillian wanted.
“Down in the poorest part of the village, the third hut past the beggar with the lame dog. Smoke ascends continuously from the hole in the roof. ’Tis easily found.”
Gillian didn’t have to hear more. She made her way quickly down the stairs.
The Fates were with her.
• • •
“OCH, BUT BUSINESS IS BRISK!” MAGDA EXCLAIMED.
“Magda, we won’t be having any business if you insist on burning everything you put in that bloody pot! Lucifer’s knees, you are a helpless nun!”
“Don’t call me names, Nemain,” Magda said stiffly. “I’ll have you know, my potions have worked well enough so far. Without your help!”
Nemain grumbled under her breath as she put her finger into the pot and tasted. “Another pinch of comeliness. Nay, not that pot! That’s wart dust, you pitiful novice! A pinch of that will turn your paying wenches into toads. Toads cannot earn money by scrubbing floors and you know what that means.”
“Aye, it means no more coins. Nor anyone to aid,” Magda added. She stirred the contents of the black kettle carefully. “Berengaria, you’re staring out the window again. What do you see?”
Berengaria was watching the Dragon’s wife slip out the gate and make her way through the village outside the outer wall. She brushed aside an unsavory lout or two who eyed the young mistress of Blackmour with less than chaste thoughts. Then she turned Gillian’s feet in the right direction and led her gently to the inconspicuous hut that sat among a score of other inconspicuous huts.
A knock sounded on the door. Berengaria smiled and went to answer.
“Gillian.”
Gillian’s green eyes widened. “Lady Berengaria? You weren’t a dream?”
“Come in, child,” Berengaria smiled, drawing Gillian inside. She led her to a stool, then shooed away Nemain and Magda, who stumbled over each other in their haste to offer Gillian something tasty to drink. “Do behave, you two,” Berengaria scolded. “Magda, love, watch the pot. Your potion is burning again.”
Gillian smiled. “I see I didn’t dream her either.”
“Nay, child, you did not. Now, tell me. How goes your life with the Dragon? I hear his temper is fiery.”
“And his form is marvelously fine,” Magda sighed dreamily.
“Magda, be you silent,” Nemain grumbled.
Berengaria only smiled serenely. “Gillian?”
Gillian leaned forward, as if she feared the walls were listening.
“I need your aid, my lady.”
“How so, child? You’ve the skill to win your lord.”
“Nay,” Gillian said, shaking her head miserably. “His first lady wife was beautiful and I know beauty is the only way to win him. Can you not make me a potion or give me a herb that will make me beautiful? Courage, too, if possible. That would serve me well.” She looked at Berengaria pleadingly. “I have no gold now, but I will bring you whatever you ask for later, if I may.”
Berengaria looked at Gillian thoughtfully. “Beauty and courage are all you require?”
“I would request a love potion too, but my lord wouldn’t be affected by it. He’s powerfully stubborn,” Gillian admitted reluctantly. “But if I were beautiful and courageous, he might grow fond of me. And if he were fond of me, he might wish me to have his child. If I were the mother of his child, he might learn to love me.” She paused. “Think you?”
Berengaria had many thoughts, one of which was how utterly suited for each other were Christopher and Gillian. Two souls so worried about their own flaws that they couldn’t see the love waiting right there before them for the asking.
Blindness came in many guises.
“Of course, I’ll aid you,” Berengaria said gently. “Beauty and courage will be yours, my child. And my only request would be that you bring me word of your successes. That will be payment enough.”
Berengaria rose and walked over to her private worktable. She pulled out her own stock of herbs and took a pinch or two of several things, mixed them together and folded them up into two leather pouches. She handed them both to Gillian, received a kiss of gratitude, then watched Gillian scamper off back up to the keep, her worries solved.
“What did you give her?” Nemain asked suspiciously. “You didn’t take from the normal beauty and courage pots. I should know. I labeled them myself.”
“I gave her something special,” Berengaria said, smiling to herself.
“Hrumph,” Nemain said, unconvinced.
“Don’t question your superiors,” Magda said to Nemain, parroting back Nemain’s favorite axiom.
Berengaria sighed as the bickering began again. Of course she’d only used crushed rose petals, but Gillian would never be the wiser. The natural beauty she possessed and the stores of courage deep inside her would come out and blossom because of her belief.
&
nbsp; And that was a magic more powerful than any wizard’s thumb-bone could ever provide.
seventeen
COLIN OF BERKHAMSHIRE WASN’T A MAN TO BE TRIFLED WITH. He knew that, and he always made sure others knew that. It saved him a great deal of aggravation while trying to garner information. A mere frown was usually all it took to have his chosen interrogatees babbling their innermost secrets in an effort to escape certain punishment. Nay, he wasn’t a man to be taken lightly.
Unfortunately, Gillian of Blackmour seemed not to realize that.
He followed her back up to the keep, scowling at peasant and knight alike and saving his unwitting mistress from several unsavory encounters. Gillian remained oblivious. If she’d but turned and seen his frown, she surely would have known she was ignoring the wrong man.
And she was betraying the wrong dragon.
Colin’s ire rose with each step he followed her. Just what mischief had she been about in the village? She’d sought that witches’ hut as easily as if she’d been going there all her life. Colin didn’t believe in witches, nor in potions, but he’d heard the gossip. Whatever Gillian was contriving, it surely boded no good. And if the girl did anything to harm Christopher . . .
To say Colin felt kindly towards Christopher was simply an understatement. Christopher was not only his brother-in-law, he was his brother by affection. They had tourneyed together. They had gone off to war together. Christopher had saved his life and Colin had returned the favor. Only Colin hadn’t been able to save Christopher’s sight. That grieved him more than he cared to admit.
He didn’t remain at Blackmour out of guilt. He had fiefs of his own, which he visited on occasion. Nay, he stayed with Christopher because Christopher was the only family remaining to him that he would break bread with. And because Christopher needed him. Colin took enormous pleasure in poking his nose in deserted corners and assuring himself that no one hatched any plots to harm the Dragon of Blackmour. He enjoyed being Christopher’s messenger, in putting fear into the hearts of those who had any dealings with Blackmour.
Colin’s eyes narrowed as he followed Gillian through the great hall. He never would have suspected this one of betrayal. She was a mouse. A marginally fetching mouse, but a mouse nonetheless. She might even have been pretty had she not spent so much of her time cowering. Not that he could begrudge her that. After seeing her torn gowns at Warewick, he’d marveled that she lived still.
Though if she harmed Christopher, she would think her past life at Warewick to be pleasant indeed compared to her future.
He followed her down the passageway to Christopher’s chamber, then waited a few moments outside the door, wanting to make certain she had the evidence of her guilt in her hands before he caught her.
He eased the door open, then slipped inside the chamber. Gillian was standing at the table, dropping something into a cup.
“Do nothing else,” Colin barked.
Gillian jumped and dust went flying into the air. Colin strode over and saw the herbs scattered about her. He glared down at her.
“Poisoning my lord?” he demanded.
Gillian cried out as she dropped to her knees and tried carefully to retrieve the few herbs that had missed landing on the table and fallen to the floor instead.
“I said cease, you murderess!”
“They aren’t for him,” Gillian moaned. “They were for me!”
Colin was very rarely mistaken and he found the sensation to be quite unnerving.
“For you? Child, why would you want to take your own life?”
Gillian ignored him and continued to search for the bits of herb scattered about. Colin knelt and grasped her chin, lifting her face up.
“I asked why you would want to take your life.”
“I don’t,” she whispered, her sweet green eyes full of tears. “These were herbs to make me beautiful and give me courage. So Christopher would love me.”
Colin’s eyes burned as badly as they ever had after being in a smoky hall. Merciful saints above, he thought he just might weep!
“I see,” he said gruffly, trying to cover up his consternation. “Courage and beauty, eh?”
“And you’ve scattered most of it.”
Never had an accusation wounded him more. He started searching with her, picking up every last bit of dust that remotely resembled anything edible. Then he found himself helping her capture the ones that had fallen to the table. Once that was done, he helped her put all the herbs back onto the scraps of leather.
“I actually couldn’t imagine you trying to poison Christopher,” he said, frowning deeply.
Gillian looked up at him, her cheeks wet with her tears. “I forgive you freely, though you have fair ruined my chances of winning Christopher now. Lady Berengaria gave me of her private cache of courage and beauty herbs. I daresay this was the last of the lot.”
Colin had his doubts about several things, mainly that this Berengaria creature was a lady and that herbs could actually make a person beautiful and courageous. But he chose not to say as much. Gillian was already terribly distraught, obviously because she thought the herbs would no longer serve her. For the first time in years, Colin found himself completely undone by a woman’s sweetness. Aye, Christopher hadn’t chosen poorly with this child.
And if she wanted to believe herbs would make her beautiful, he was perfectly willing to help her do so. But he would make damn sure she wasn’t going to poison herself by mistake. Already Christopher was fond of the girl. Losing her would certainly trouble him.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to share,” Colin asked, trying to sound disinterested so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “Just of the beauty herbs, though. I’ve courage enough to spare.”
Gillian’s shy smile was positively enchanting. Colin vowed then to tell Christopher just what a fetching wench he’d bought himself.
“Just a bit. I’ll need most of them for myself.”
Colin nodded solemnly, as though he actually agreed such foolishness would work.
“I believe these are the ones. Here.”
Colin accepted a goblet of wine with a sprinkling of beauty on top. As he drank, he wondered in the back of his mind if it might truly make him handsome. Not that he cared, of course. Handsomeness never helped a man on the battlefield.
He waited. When he didn’t begin to retch, he had the feeling Gillian wouldn’t poison herself.
“How do I look?” he asked.
“Well, there isn’t much of a change.”
Colin watched the crestfallen look descend on her face and he cleared his throat hastily.
“You know, I’ve heard these things take at least a se’nnight to work. Perhaps longer in the case of a man. Try just a little each day, my lady, then be patient. I’m sure they will serve you quite well.”
Gillian nodded and picked up her own cup of wine. She closed her eyes while she drank, as if she prayed sincerely for success.
“Gillian? Saints, Colin, I can smell you too,” Christopher barked from the door. “What are you doing in here tormenting my lady?”
“Ah,” Colin stalled, “we were discussing herbs.”
“I’m sure you’ve discussed enough. Get you gone, Colin. I’ll see to Gillian now.”
Colin clapped Christopher on the back as he left the chamber. Then he headed down to the cellars, feeling the need of something very strong to drink.
• • •
CHRISTOPHER LAY IN HIS BED AND WAITED UNTIL GILLIAN fell asleep. He rose and dressed in hose and boots, then picked up his sword and left his chamber. He hadn’t trained in a se’nnight and already he could feel a difference. Not only did parrying with invisible foes keep his muscles honed, it helped him keep his sense of balance.
The memories of just how long it took him to regain even that were ones Christopher didn’t dwell on if he could help it. Ah, how much he had taken his eyes for granted! Even such a simple thing as swinging a sword had been a task to relearn. At first it had been all he could do t
o move his blade from side to side and still keep on his feet. He’d landed flat on his face the first time he’d attempted a forward thrust. That was, of course, ventured only after he’d learned to parry without losing his supper. Saints, even now, the very thought of the dizziness he’d suffered made him queasy.
He shook off the memories and strode forward. He could parry with ease now—and he’d earned every bloody stroke he could swing.
He hadn’t walked five paces before he heard someone fall into step with him.
“Colin?”
“Damnation, Christopher, but you are too observant.”
Christopher grunted as he strode forward. “I’ve nothing to say to you. I cannot wring a decent answer from my wife as to what you were doing in my chamber. Should you have even kissed her when I dare not, I will kill you.”
“Me? Never. Not that she isn’t a comely wench. Grows more beautiful with every passing hour, to my mind.”
Christopher didn’t answer. Gillian’s beauty, or lack thereof, was the last thing on his mind. Bedding her was first and foremost in his thoughts. Continually. Day and night. Dreaming or awake. He could not force her delicate smell from his nostrils, nor could he erase the memories of waking each morning with her draped over him like a soggy blanket. But of course, she wouldn’t want him. Why would she, when he had so little to offer her?
Christopher mounted the steps to the tower chamber, then waited until he heard Colin reach the landing behind him.
“Might we have a candle?” Colin asked.
“Aye, but fetch it yourself.”
Christopher stretched his muscles, then began working with his blade. Thrust and parry, parry and thrust. Strike the right, sever the sword arm, then seek the heart, always the heart. In his youth, Christopher had followed a more chivalrous method of swordplay, delaying the kill out of politeness. Now it was kill quickly, or suffer death himself. He knew if he ever faced a real opponent, he would be bloody lucky to come out with all his limbs intact, not to mention his very life. He had to strike for the heart and not miss his mark. It would be the only way he would survive.
