So I Married a Sorcerer

by Kerrelyn Sparks

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “That must be our dinner.” Sister Fallyn stood. “Come in!”

  Jeffrey opened the door to reveal Stefan holding an enormous tray of food.

  “May I join you?” Stefan walked in to deposit the tray on the table. Jeffrey put a jug of wine on the sideboard then scampered away.

  Sister Fallyn blushed. “I suppose it would be all right.” She busied herself unloading the tray.

  “Thank you.” Stefan slanted a tender look toward the nun that she didn’t see, but Brigitta did.

  And her heart hurt even more. “I’m not very hungry. I think I’ll lie down in the cabin next door.”

  Sister Fallyn gave her a worried look. “Are ye ill?”

  “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very much last night.” That much was true. Brigitta had hardly slept a wink, for she’d kept replaying her confession to Rupert in her mind and remembering the horrified look on his face.

  She blinked her eyes to keep tears from gathering. “Good night.” She hurried from the room and dashed into the smaller cabin next door.

  The sun was setting outside, so only a little light filtered through the small window. And the lantern had long since run out of oil. She lay on the bed, watching the encroaching shadows until she finally fell asleep.

  Sometime later, a knock on her door awakened her. Was it Rupert? She jumped out of bed and fumbled toward the door in the dark. “Yes?”

  The door opened and Jeffrey peered inside. “I brought you some food.”

  “Oh.” She opened the door to let in more light from the passageway. The scent of roast beef made her mouth water. “Thank you.”

  Jeffrey set the tray on the table, then hurried back out. “I’ll bring you a lantern.”

  In a few minutes he was back, and Brigitta held a chair for him to climb up and replace the old lantern on the ceiling hook.

  “There.” He jumped down from the chair. “Rupert heard you didn’t have any dinner, so he told me to bring you something nice.”

  Brigitta’s heart did a little leap. Rupert might be avoiding her, but he hadn’t forgotten her.

  With her appetite back, she sat down to eat. What could be so important about his secrets that he couldn’t let anyone know? Did it have something to do with his plan of revenge against her brother? Why did he hate Gunther so much?

  Gunther was twelve years older than her. Rupert was seven years older, or six and a half to be precise. Any way she looked at it, it seemed like Gunther would have been too young to have killed Rupert’s father, yet he was the one Rupert had targeted for revenge.

  She replayed the vision of the ambush in her mind. The men had been on horseback. Some wearing uniforms. Guards? Others had been richly clothed in velvet with fur-lined capes. Nobles.

  Rupert’s father had been a nobleman.

  If Gunther hadn’t killed Rupert’s father, then—Brigitta dropped her fork with a clatter. No, not her father.

  Her heart pounded as she tried to stop where her thoughts were going. Had her father killed Rupert’s father? Good goddesses, no!

  She jumped to her feet. No, no. She didn’t want to believe it.

  But she knew from her history lessons that Tourin had long been plagued with uprisings and civil war. It was not uncommon for a king to demolish a noble family if he considered them traitors. If Rupert did come from nobility and his entire family had been wiped out, who but a king would have had the power to do that?

  She paced about the room. This couldn’t be it. She was mistaken. There had to be some other explanation. She just needed to reexamine all the visions. There had to be a way to fit the puzzle pieces together so they would construct an entirely different picture.

  For how could she live with the notion that her father had killed Rupert’s father?

  “It can’t be true.” She stopped with a jerk. If it was true, Rupert would know.

  Her knees gave out and she collapsed on the floor.

  He would hate her.

  * * *

  The next day, when Jeffrey came to their cabin to collect their luncheon tray, he announced, “The captain said you could go on deck now. We’re approaching Rupert’s Island.”

  “Oh, how exciting!” Sister Fallyn leaped to her feet and ran toward the open doorway.

  Brigitta helped Jeffrey stack their plates and bowls on the tray.

  He gave her a worried look. “You didn’t eat very much. And you hardly ate anything last night.”

  She attempted a smile. “I’ll be all right.”

  Jeffrey didn’t look convinced. “The island is a nice place. If I didn’t want to be a sea captain someday, I would be happy to live there.”

  “I’m sure it will be lovely.” Tears threatened once again, and she blinked them away. She’d cried enough last night. Self-pity wasn’t going to change anything. It couldn’t change the fact that she was going to spend her life in hiding. It couldn’t reunite her with her sisters. It couldn’t make it possible for her and Rupert to have a happy ending.

  Sister Fallyn huffed outside the door. “Are ye not coming?”

  Brigitta followed the nun up the steps. On deck, a cool breeze helped wipe away some of the grogginess of a sleepless night. Her gaze lifted automatically to the crow’s nest. Rupert was there, his back to her, and she was surprised to see him wearing his mask, scarf, and hat once again. Good goddesses, he even disguised himself on his own island? Did the man trust no one?

  He’d let her see his face and hair. He’d given her that much trust. Did he now regret it?

  “Brigitta, look!” Sister Fallyn called from the starboard railing.

  As she approached the railing, she saw an emerald-green island rising out of the blue sea. Seagulls cawed as they swooped back and forth along the rocky coastline.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” Sister Fallyn made the sign of the moons. “Thank the goddesses we have found a safe refuge.”

  An exile, Brigitta thought, although she had to admit the island was lovely. The coastline was jagged with dramatic cliffs and rock formations.

  “Look!” Sister Fallyn pointed at a waterfall that cascaded over a cliff. Where the water plunged into the sea, a shimmering rainbow arched over a cloud of mist.

  “Do you like it?” Rupert’s voice tickled her ear as it swept past her on a breeze.

  Her heart squeezed. He was talking to her again. “’Tis beautiful.”

  “It’s very pleasant during the summer, but the winters can be a bit harsh,” Rupert said.

  Brigitta nodded. The breeze here was cooler than what she was accustomed to on the Isle of Moon. This island had to be situated farther north.

  Up on the quarterdeck, Stefan called out some orders, and crewmen rushed about, lowering some sails and adjusting others. Brigitta saw the reason why as the ship sailed past a rocky peninsula that jutted into the sea. Just on the other side, a wide bay stretched out before them.

  Instead of cliffs, the land sloped gently to a sandy beach. Several whitewashed stone buildings had been built along the shore close to a wooden pier. More stone cottages dotted the green fields.

  A horn sounded on the ship, and Brigitta watched as people stopped working in the fields or along the shore. Cottage doors opened and more people peered outside. Soon, they were all waving their arms and running toward the pier.

  As the ship moved farther into the bay, Brigitta noticed that most of the people on the pier were women and children. Meanwhile, on deck, Stefan continued to call out orders. With the sails lowered, they crept forward slowly. Anchors were dropped, and the ship shuddered and groaned as it finally came to a stop.

  Crewmen wheeled out the pulley system Rupert had invented for loading and unloading supplies. He slid down a rope to direct the crewmen. Stefan joined him as he decided which supplies to load into each dinghy.

  Eventually, Stefan walked over to them. “I apologize for the delay. We’ll take you ashore as soon as possible.”

  “There’s no hurry,
” Brigitta assured him.

  Sister Fallyn smiled at him. “The island is every bit as lovely as ye said.”

  He smiled back. “I think we’re doing something wonderfully new and different here. For the first time in their lives, these people are not working fields or living in houses that are owned by a nobleman.”

  “Ye mean Rupert hasn’t claimed that the island belongs to him?” Brigitta asked.

  Stefan shook his head. “We call it Rupert’s Island because he discovered it, but when our crewmen asked if they could bring their families and settle here, Rupert told them he would not be their landlord. They would be the lords of their own lands and decide their own destiny.”

  Brigitta’s heart squeezed in her chest. How could she not fall in love with such a man?

  “But what if there is disagreement among the people?” Sister Fallyn asked. “Surely someone must be in charge.”

  “They vote for someone to be the village chieftain,” Stefan replied. “For the last few years, that’s been Granny Hargraves. She’s considered the oldest and wisest.”

  “A female chieftain?” Sister Fallyn exchanged a smile with Brigitta. “This may not be that different from the convent.”

  “Oh, it’s different.” Stefan motioned toward the crewmen who were rushing about on deck. “These men are in a hurry to get ashore. Those are their wives and children on the pier. Granny Hargraves will be watching over the children this afternoon while the men—” He stopped with a wince. “Well, it’s not a convent.”

  Sister Fallyn blushed.

  Brigitta smiled to herself. “And ye were never tempted to marry, Captain?”

  His gaze slid to Sister Fallyn. “I’ve been waiting for the right woman. Excuse me.” He inclined his head. “I’ll see about getting you into a dinghy.”

  As he strode away, Sister Fallyn pressed a hand to her chest.

  “Are ye all right, Sister?” Brigitta asked.

  “Is it all right for me to feel this way?” Sister Fallyn whispered.

  “You like him.”

  She nodded and tears glimmered in her eyes. “I’m falling for him. How can that be when I’m a nun?”

  Brigitta sighed. It was a problem, she had to admit, but it didn’t seem as daunting as the problem keeping her and Rupert apart. If her father had actually killed his—she pushed aside that horrible thought. “Why did ye take yer vows?”

  Sister Fallyn hung her head. “I thought I had caused Kennet’s death. So I thought I should spend the rest of my life in atonement for my sins.”

  “But Kennet is alive. Ye never did anything wrong.”

  “I disobeyed my father.”

  “He was using you for his own financial gain.”

  Sister Fallyn sighed. “I followed my heart and did something reckless.”

  “Ye did it for love. Even if it was a one-sided love, how can love be wrong?” Brigitta patted the nun’s shoulder. “If you and Stefan love each other, I think ye should grab on to it and never let it go.”

  A tear ran down Sister Fallyn’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “We shall see.” Taking a deep breath, she turned toward the island. “I have a feeling we will soon know which paths we are to take.”

  “I hope so.” For right now, Brigitta was feeling very lost.

  * * *

  It seemed like the more joyous everyone was, the more Brigitta felt a sense of upcoming doom.

  After rowing them to the island, Stefan had proudly shown them his stone cottage.

  “’Tis lovely!” Sister Fallyn exclaimed with a grin.

  “You are both welcome to live here as long as you wish,” Stefan claimed. “I can bunk down in Rupert’s house.”

  Rupert had a house? Brigitta’s heart sank a bit more. She hadn’t been invited to see it.

  While Sister Fallyn busied herself cleaning the dusty cottage, Brigitta wandered about the small village. The reunions on the pier had been joyous with the men hugging their happy wives and tossing their laughing children in the air. But it hadn’t taken long for the men to whisk their wives off to the cottages. Some had even carried their wives over the doorsteps.

  Brigitta sighed. She didn’t even know where Rupert was. Up in a field, the children were running about, playing tag, while Granny Hargraves sat on a rock, keeping an eye on them as she knit. Over time, Brigitta figured she would learn everyone’s name, and eventually it might feel like home. Instead of an exile.

  She walked in a southerly direction down the beach, then found a log to sit on. A pelican swooped down and sat beside her.

  “I guess it’s just us,” she muttered, and the bird gave a small squawk.

  The bay faced west, so she had a lovely view of the sun lowering in the sky, painting the sea with shimmering shades of pink and gold.

  She heard voices in the distance and saw people emerging from their houses. After a while, she realized they were setting up a celebration on the shore. A fire was built, and they began roasting a lamb on a spit. Tables were carried out, along with plates and goblets. A cask of ale was rolled out. Canopies were erected on poles and lanterns hung.

  The children arrived, accompanied by Granny Hargraves. A man began playing a fiddle, and another, some sort of pipe. Brigitta spotted Sister Fallyn and Stefan joining the party. She looked so happy.

  Rupert was nowhere in sight.

  With a groan, she glanced at the sun. It sat on the horizon now, as if it were melting into a sea of red fire. And her feeling of doom grew heavier.

  After all the thinking she’d done, she hadn’t been able to rearrange the puzzle pieces. Every time she replayed the visions in her mind, she came to the same conclusion. Rupert was from a noble family. A noble Tourinian family. And most likely, her father was responsible for the deaths of his loved ones.

  She picked up a stick and stabbed at the sand. That had to be why Rupert found it so difficult to trust her. He considered her family the enemy.

  Who was he exactly?

  She stood and used the long stick to scratch letters in the sand. Ni Rupert. “I am Rupert” in Tourinian. That was how he had introduced himself. As she crossed the last t, she looked back over the words. Backward.

  She gasped, and the stick tumbled from her hands.

  Trepurin.

  “No,” she breathed. The House of Trepurin? The house that had given Tourin its first king and a long line of kings?

  The house her father had destroyed.

  Her mind raced back to the terrible story Sister Fallyn had told her. King Manfrid had come south with the prince. The lost prince!

  “Rupert,” she whispered as tears burned her eyes. Just like the cogs and wheels of one of Rupert’s inventions, all the clues fit neatly together and locked into place.

  The ambush had been her father’s plan to kill the rightful king, Rupert’s father. The wheel in her mind turned and clicked onto the next vision. The battle had been her father’s army attacking the king’s army. Click. Rupert had cried over his mother’s grave, the queen’s grave. Click. Rupert had hid in caves and basements because her father’s soldiers wanted to kill him. Click. All the grief and despair that Rupert had felt, it had all been caused by her father.

  With a cry, Brigitta fell to her knees. Tears ran down her face as more memories made sense. That was why Rupert had referred to her as a so-called princess. He knew her father had stolen the throne.

  That was why he said her name as if he knew her. Another one of his hidden memories flitted across her mind. A baby in a crib festooned with white lace.

  She doubled over as if she’d been struck in the stomach. It was her. That baby in Rupert’s mind was her.

  “No.” She dug her fingers into the sand, then hurled a clump of sand into the sea. “No!” She grabbed the stick and dragged it back and forth across the letters to erase what she had done. The pelican stood nearby, its head cocked as if it had been reading what she’d wrote.

  But she couldn’t erase what her father had done. He’d destroyed Rup
ert’s family. Only Rupert had survived. He was the lost prince.

  No. Her heart stuttered. He was the rightful king.

  Dear goddesses, no wonder he wanted revenge.

  She collapsed forward onto her knees and elbows. Rupert had been betrothed to her. She had been the excuse to lure Rupert’s family to their doom.

  How could he ever trust her? Or love her?

  With a cry, she realized any future with him was impossible. And now that she knew it could never happen, she was suddenly aware of how much she wanted it. She wanted his love.

  Goddesses help her, she was in love with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Child, what are you doing here alone?”

  Brigitta looked up to find Granny Hargraves leaning over her. The old woman was holding a small earthenware pitcher in her hands.

  “Ah, you’ve been crying.” Granny Hargraves watched her sadly.

  Brigitta sat up. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been crouched over the sand. A cool breeze stung her face and brought her back to the world around her. Only a sliver of light colored the sea a glowing red where the sun had set. Darkness had descended unnoticed.

  She’d been numb, she realized. Withdrawn into a miserable, small place filled with gloom and despair. Now she could hear the music and laughter of the celebration in the distance. People were eating and dancing.

  “Why are you crying?” Granny Hargraves straightened. “Ah, perhaps you don’t speak Tourinian.”

  “I do,” Brigitta croaked, then cleared her throat.

  “Heartbroken, are you?” The old woman waved a bony hand when Brigitta stiffened. “No point in denying it. I’ve endured enough heartbreak in my life to recognize it when I see it. So why are you here alone?”

  Brigitta eased back onto the log and stretched her cramped legs in front of her. The pelican was still nearby, watching them. “I didn’t feel like celebrating.”

  “I don’t mean them.” Granny Hargraves motioned toward the party. “Why aren’t you with the one you want to be with? Did he not come to the island with you?” Her voice softened. “Has he passed away?”

  “He’s fine.” Brigitta glanced at the celebration. “I suppose he’s here somewhere. But it is not possible for us to be together.”