Midnight Magic

by Shari Anton

  She snuggled deeper into the mattress, knowing the rest of the day wasn’t going to be pleasant. There were funerals to attend, and Emma and Nicole . . . Panicked, Gwendolyn threw off the coverlet and frantically searched the floor for her garments. She tossed on her chemise, grabbed her soft shoes and surcoat, and raced to her sisters’ bedchamber.

  Her sisters’ empty bedchamber. Nicole’s pallet no longer lay on the floor at the end of the bed. The bed’s coverlet lay smooth, the bolsters neatly arranged. Emma’s trunk was missing.

  Dread coiled in Gwendolyn’s stomach, praying her sisters were breaking their fast. The thought that she might have missed their departure was simply too horrific to contemplate.

  She tossed open the lid of her clothing trunk and grabbed the brown workaday gown on top. She forswore a veil and circlet, didn’t even brush her hair in her haste. With her wedding surcoat in hand, she raced down the passageway and stairs to the hall.

  Not there. Sweet mercy, if they’d already left she’d never forgive herself—and strangle Emma for not waking her to say fare-thee-well.

  Heart in throat, she dashed into the bailey and, to her great relief, saw her sisters standing near a cart.

  Emma’s trunk hadn’t yet been loaded. Nearby stood Nicole’s pony, a satchel containing a few of her belongings tied behind the saddle. Nicole wouldn’t need or even be allowed many personal possessions at the abbey, while Emma probably could use more than she had packed.

  Gwendolyn shoved the surcoat into Emma’s arms. “Why did you not wake me?”

  Emma smiled at the harsh question. “Had you not come down, we would have come up. Are you sure you wish to part with this?”

  Gwendolyn’s bluster faded. “’Tis only a surcoat, and the color flatters you more than me.”

  Without further protest, Emma refolded the surcoat and placed it in the trunk before signaling the servants to load it into the cart. Gwendolyn watched the men heave the trunk onto the bed and tie it down securely with ropes.

  The finality of her sisters’ leaving hit Gwendolyn hard in the heart.

  “I hate this,” she spat out.

  Emma’s hands landed on Gwendolyn’s shoulders. “None of us are happy, but your duty is to care for yourself and Camelen. All else will sort out, in time. We will be fine.”

  Nicole snorted. “So you say, but you need not suffer a cloister.”

  “‘Suffer’ is a harsh word,” Emma admonished. “And you know I shall do what I can to procure your release.”

  Nicole kicked at the dirt. “I shall hate it, I know it. This is all Alberic’s fault. If not for him—”

  “Stop it, Nicole.” Surprised by her swift defense of Alberic, Gwendolyn reined in her ire. Nicole was angry and frightened, needful of hugs and reassurance. She pulled the girl into a fierce embrace.

  “No one can change the king’s order except the king, and you know Emma shall do all she can to change his mind. Try to consider this an adventure. I dare say you might learn something at the abbey.”

  “I already know how to pray.”

  “Aye, well, we could all use your prayers.” Gwendolyn tilted Nicole’s chin upward. “Sedwick will explain your situation to the abbess, so she will know you are not called to a religious life, though I dare say the abbess would learn that on her own soon enough. So you might use your time there to improve upon your education. Perhaps read whatever is available in the library, or spend time in the infirmary and learn herb lore. Perhaps you can bring back ideas upon how to improve Camelen’s garden.”

  Nicole sighed. “So Father Paul advised.”

  “Then you must listen and act upon such good counsel. You must write to me as soon as you are able. I wish to hear about all of the interesting things you find there.”

  Seeing Sedwick coming toward her, his sad smile a portent of his readiness to leave, Gwendolyn gave Nicole another fierce hug before releasing her to Emma’s arms. In too short a time Nicole sat upon her pony, tears flowing down her cheeks. Sedwick took firm hold of the bridle and led the pony and an escort of four soldiers across the bailey.

  “Dear God, Emma, she is a mere babe!”

  “More a strong-willed minx,” Emma retorted with choked affection.

  By the time the company reached the gatehouse, Gwendolyn’s throat had closed up so tightly she could barely breathe, and to make all worse, Garrett stood by the cart awaiting Emma.

  The parting with Nicole was heart-wrenching. But Emma’s leaving fair broke Gwendolyn’s heart into tiny shards.

  “You will write, too,” Gwendolyn ordered in the midst of a parting embrace.

  “Certes.” Emma pulled back and narrowed her eyes. “Tsk. Look at you. I swear, Gwendolyn, you appear the utter hoyden. Go up and repair the damage before the people forget you are now the lady of Camelen.”

  Emma only half teased, and Gwendolyn managed a small smile at her sister’s attempt to lighten the parting.

  “Have a care who you order about at court. I should hate to have them toss you out too soon.”

  Emma laughed lightly before she climbed up into the cart and took the seat beside Garrett. Eight soldiers, split evenly between leading and following, provided escort.

  Gwendolyn knew if she went up onto the battlements to watch both sisters until they were out of sight, she’d sob and wail and draw pity, so she returned to the hall.

  Servants went about their chores as on other days. Gwendolyn took her chair at the high table to break her fast, as she had for many mornings, except today Alberic didn’t sit beside her to provide distraction. Her sisters were no longer here to talk to. The bread turned dry in her mouth and the cheese clumped in her stomach.

  Thomas stood not far off, likely ordered by Alberic to watch over her to ensure she didn’t do something rash, like run off with one of her sisters. The mannerly tilt of his head in her direction reminded her of his offering of a goblet of wine last eve, and of the wager she had no notion of who had won.

  Sweet mercy, both she and Alberic had endured for many hours, through two couplings; the first fast and hard, the second a slow, gratifying enjoyment of sight and taste and sound.

  Surely the priest would admonish them both for enjoying each other so thoroughly, but Gwendolyn couldn’t bring herself to care and hoped Alberic wouldn’t mind enjoying her again when he returned.

  ’Twas hard to say how long he would be gone. Two or three days, he’d said. So she had best find something to do to pass the time or go witless.

  Repair the damage, Emma had ordered, and so she would, not because of Emma’s prodding but because as lady of Camelen she had duties to perform after nooning. Two soldiers would be put to their eternal rest, and ’twas Gwendolyn’s duty to attend the burials.

  The only bright spot she could see in the day was bringing Edward into the keep to be fitted for his livery and introduced to the other pages.

  Surely that would take her mind off both her sisters’ departures and Alberic’s lovemaking.

  If pride was truly a sin, then Alberic needed to confess the elation pulsing through his veins. Within site of Camelen, Alberic urged the two horses he led to a faster pace, noting Roger did the same with his charges.

  While retrieving four out of five of Camelen’s horses right from beneath Madog ap Idwal’s nose certainly justified pride, ’twas the sight of Gwendolyn on the battlements that caused his heart to swell.

  Garbed as on the day he’d first met her, a helm on her head and chain mail draped over her body, Gwendolyn had not only stayed at Camelen but now watched for him.

  He’d done right to ensure her memories of their wedding night not only pleasurable but firmly fixed. He could hardly wait for a celebration of his successful venture into Wales and victorious homecoming.

  Home. Ye gods. In the space of a fortnight the castle had become a home. And not only was it nice to have a home to return to, but a wife to greet him upon his arrival.

  But still, the closer he drew to the gate, the harder Alberic watch
ed the drawbridge for signs that not all was well.

  He had reason not to trust Gwendolyn. The ecstasy of their wedding night aside, Gwendolyn might not be awaiting him as an eager bride. Too easily he could envision her ordering the gates shut against him.

  He’d taken her father’s place as lord of Camelen, and knew she blamed him for her brother’s death. He’d forced her into a marriage she opposed then sent away her beloved sisters. Gwendolyn had reason aplenty to raise the drawbridge.

  He held his breath until his horse’s hooves hit the wooden planks. As he entered the bailey elation again claimed him when he saw Gwendolyn waiting for him at the bottom of the gatehouse stairs, her chain mail in place, her helm gone. She gave the horses a quick but assessing inspection.

  “Only four?” she asked, sending his high spirits plummeting.

  Alberic dismounted and handed over his recovered booty to the waiting stable lads.

  “We never saw the fifth. When the opportunity arose, we took what we could and still escape.”

  “Ah.”

  So much for a joyous homecoming! He supposed he should be thankful she hadn’t ordered the drawbridge raised, be glad she hadn’t left Camelen in his absence.

  Damn. He’d thought they’d reached an accord on their wedding night. Apparently not. Well, there was always tonight to try again. But first he needed food and drink, and a thorough washing. He smelled of his own sweat and horse droppings—odors not suited to the marriage bed.

  Confident Roger and the stable lads would take excellent care of the horses, he led Gwendolyn into the hall, which seemed inordinately quiet.

  No royal soldiers. No Sedwick or Garrett. No Emma or Nicole. They’d all left Camelen yesterday.

  He’d known Gwendolyn would have to deal with her sisters’ departure and the soldiers’ burials on her own. Perhaps that explained her somber mood, her lack of appreciation for his success.

  “Sit with me while I eat?”

  Gwendolyn nodded and called out to the nearest page to fetch food from the kitchen, and sent another to the cellar for a flagon of wine.

  Settled into his chair, he rested his head against the tall back, closed his eyes, and allowed himself a deep, calming breath.

  “You seem all done in, my lord. I had thought you would immediately begin telling the tale of your adventure.”

  She made it sound as if he’d left because he’d wanted to and enjoyed himself all the while. The small act of retaliation against ap Idwal had demanded swift action. To delay would have lessened his chance for success. Surely she understood he’d had no choice.

  Or perhaps not. Maybe the strain and grief of the past weeks had simply caught up with her and burdened her heart.

  “Later. First you must tell me how you fare. My apologies for leaving you to face all the sadness alone.”

  She pursed her lips hard, in her struggle to hold back tears. “Emma and Nicole departed without mishap. Both have promised to write as soon as they might.”

  Alberic didn’t worry about Emma; she relished her chance at court. However, Nicole felt differently about the abbey.

  “Did Nicole go quietly?”

  “As quietly as is possible for Nicole.”

  My thanks, Nicole. Had the girl tossed a fit, Gwendolyn would be utterly distraught over their parting.

  “The burials went as planned?”

  “With nary a misstep, may God have mercy on their souls. Mistress Biggs is most distressed, naturally, but she does not give in to despair, partly for Edward’s sake, I imagine.”

  “And Edward?”

  Finally she gave him a small smile. “He is right fond of his livery, says it makes him look like new.”

  Alberic knew the feeling. New, fine garb would make the boy feel like a bright, shiny coin. He just hoped Edward’s experience as a page at Camelen proved to be a better one than his own at Chester.

  “You have him outfitted already?”

  “Aye. He is utterly adorable.”

  Spoken like a woman prideful of her charge.

  “Any trouble with the other pages?”

  “I think not. Thomas gave them all a talking-to, so I expect no trouble.”

  Alberic knew better than to let it go at that. Boys could be mean to the newest among them, particularly to a boy who ranked beneath them. He would have to caution Thomas and Roger, whose new duties as squires included the supervision of the pages, to watch for signs of undue teasing or outright torture of the new page.

  “Edward is in the keep?”

  Gwendolyn glanced around. “He is . . . ah, there.”

  Two pages came toward the dais. One boy he recognized, the other he wouldn’t have if Gwendolyn hadn’t pointed him out. Bathed, his legs encased in tight hose and feet stuffed into unfamiliar leather shoes, Edward held his head high and spine straight, so obviously bursting with pride his chest strained his thigh-length tunic.

  He carried two gold goblets as though they were made of precious, breakable glass, too new at his position to be entrusted with a flagon of wine.

  In step with the other boy, Edward mounted the dais, and Alberic could hear whispered instructions from behind him. Soon a small hand set the goblet on the table at Alberic’s right, and then at Gwendolyn’s, without mishap. A slightly larger hand poured the wine and set the flagon down a bit forward and to the right of Gwendolyn’s goblet.

  She smiled fondly at both pages. “Well done, Edward. My thanks, Roland. You may step down.”

  Footsteps in unison, the boys walked to the end of the dais and stepped down, but not too far away. There they would wait until called upon to clear away the goblets and flagon.

  Gwendolyn leaned forward. “Did I not tell you he is adorable?”

  Sure that Edward wouldn’t appreciate being called adorable, Alberic reached for his wine.

  “As you say,” he told her, and along with a swig of wine he caught a whiff of his sleeve. “I need a bath.”

  With mere hand signals Gwendolyn sent the pages scurrying to fulfill the request. Ah yes, he liked having a comfortable home and a wife who knew how to manage it and its servants.

  “Did you have trouble retrieving the horses?” she asked.

  “A bit.” A vague answer would do for now. Likely she would hear the whole tale later, but he’d rather that be later. Her mood brightened apace with their conversation. Best he keep her talking. “Ap Idwal’s holding is easily entered, and our horses stood out like giants among their ponies. We left him the saddles in our need for haste and in thanks for leaving the bridles and halters on the horses.”

  “A fortunate happenstance.”

  True, except it irritated Alberic that he and Roger had been discovered too soon to fetch the saddles.

  “This is not the end of it, Gwendolyn. The man has yet to pay for the lives of two men.”

  “You intend to retaliate?”

  “I must, or be considered soft, an easy mark.” He smiled at her concerned frown. “But not tonight. Now that I have seen ap Idwal’s holding, I can make plans for when Sedwick and Garrett return. Our garrison is too depleted for the nonce to take action.”

  She nodded her comprehension, but still frowned, which was understandable. He’d been a baron for all of two weeks, and here he was planning to lead a second raid on a Welsh landowner. On Gwendolyn’s former betrothed, no less.

  The king might not approve of the action, either, but by the time he received a report, ’twould be done and all peaceful again. ’Twas ironic that the earl of Chester would approve wholeheartedly.

  ’Struth, Chester merely waited for the right time to suggest to King Stephen that he join his royal forces with those of the Marches’ earls in a united effort against Wales.

  Such a war would cause mixed feelings at Camelen, with its mix of English and Welsh citizenry. Fortunately, as far as Alberic knew, the king was yet camped outside of Wallingford and entertaining no such notions.

  As for a bit of retaliation against ap Idwal, Alberic felt sure t
he garrison would follow him willingly against the man who’d killed two of their own. As soon as Sedwick, Garrett, and the escorts returned, they’d make plans.

  Right now all he wanted was his bath and, he thought wryly, for the lady of the keep to assist him. Already he could feel her soap-slicked hands wandering all over him.

  “Think you my bathwater ready?”

  “Not as yet. You have time to eat first.”

  “Time, aye, but the thought does not appeal. Whenever I lift my arm I catch the stench of horses. I should rather wait to eat until all I can smell is roasted meat and fresh-baked bread.” He leaned toward her, envisioning his soap-slicked hands wandering all over her. “The tub is big enough for both of us, I think.”

  She blushed furiously. “Surely we would make a mess.”

  “Very likely.”

  She bit her bottom lip, her eyes lit with curiosity, giving the prospect of a shared bath serious thought.

  He decided to help her decide. “I have other pleasures to show you.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of the afternoon?”

  “We shall toss open the shutters and allow in lots of light. We shall be able to see each other fully as well as touch and taste.”

  “The sun may shine, but the wind is chilled.”

  “I give you my oath I will keep you warm.”

  “The servants will gossip.”

  “Let them. ’Struth, Gwendolyn, we are newly wed. They expect us to be about the business of giving Camelen an heir, and will be proud of you for doing your wifely duty.”

  She seemed to have run out of objections, but hadn’t yet come to a decision when the creak of the hall’s door drew her gaze. He glanced that way, too, and smiled.

  A parade of six youngsters—four pages and two scullery maids, each carrying a water-filled bucket—crossed the floor to the stairs. Behind them a little girl scampered to keep up, her arms loaded with towels. As the water bearers began to climb the stairs, he turned back to Gwendolyn.

  “Our bath awaits.”

  She shook her head. “Your bath. We will not both fit in the tub. Come, before the water cools.”

  They followed a trail of water up the stairs and into the bedchamber. The two tallest pages had pulled the wooden tub out of its storage space and set it near the hearth by the time Alberic entered the room.