A fearful thought lodged in Will’s mind and he became very still. “I know all of which you speak. We have spoken many times of the need to fortify our position. Unless a new play has been made to threaten us, why are you concerned now that the alliance with the Earl of Wharton has been forged?”
There was a slight hesitation and Will, seeing the answer on the duke’s face, stiffened his shoulders to confront it.
“Will, do you believe my eyes are too old, my memories too faded to recognize longing and desire blazing as bright as the firmament? I tell you this again to remind us of our duty and soothe my conscience for being unable to give you what before God should be yours.”
“I have never asked more of you than you have offered,” Will answered in as unemotional a voice as he could muster, considering the hot, tight feelings warring within him since first his eyes met Elizabeth’s. “I ask but one question. Knowing, why insist I ride with her this morning?”
In two strides his father reached him, the papers fluttering forgotten to the carpets as he gripped Will’s shoulders with strong hands. “I would give my soul to have had one more minute with your mother. Allow me to give you this day.”
Will lay caught within a net of pain and pleasure. He could cut himself free and flee in self-preservation. Or he could stay and continue to suffer exquisite torment.
Outside dawn had come and in a few hours he could see Elizabeth, if he so chose.
With unguarded eyes he met his father’s steady gaze and nodded. “I promise I shall not forfeit this day.”
…
The early morning autumn air tasted cold and crisp while the sun warmed Elizabeth’s skin. Astride her horse, she galloped across the field, her long, cream-lined, crimson cloak billowing about her. She craved this freedom to clear the cobwebs of doubt about her future from her head and heart.
The wind carried the sound of Laurel’s laughter and the strong, steady hoof beats of Will’s black stallion.
“Race you both to the stream,” Laurel called, her chestnut mare passing Elizabeth.
Taking the challenge, she urged her horse to lunge forward and the wind whipped her hair loose from its ribbons to flow behind her.
The earth trembled beneath them, the air thundering with the power of their horses’ gallops. At the edge of the woods, the clear, wide stream stretched before them as they halted next to it, the horses nose to nose.
Alive with laughter, the air sparked bright about them, filling Elizabeth with the joy and contentment of this moment.
Snorting, their breaths a light mist in the chill, the horses pawed the earth as Will pranced his black stallion around them.
The sun loved Will, kissing his strong cheekbones and lighting the blue of his eyes. “You both are well matched. I fought to keep pace with you.”
A moment ago where contentment had blossomed, now arose an unstoppable primal urge, a part of her as elemental as drawing breath, which pulled her toward him. So close she saw herself reflected in his eyes, felt the heat of his body, she smiled up into his face. “Yes, Will. I am your match in all ways. Do we both not know it to be true?”
The answer of matched longing and desire, transforming the strong bones of his face and darkening his cornflower eyes to dark blue, terrified her with its power, yet urged her to say more, to hold this forbidden moment for as long as possible.
Somehow she felt his plea for reason, to save them both from more pain.
Biting her lip to keep it from trembling, she forced her horse to turn away from him. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement in the woods.
Three horsemen with swords drawn burst out from between the large oaks and galloped toward them. “Will!” she screamed.
Rapier drawn, he rode out in front of her, ready to attack the thieves before they could reach her and Laurel. The clash of steel as his blade met the first rider echoed in her ears.
Beside her, Laurel’s chestnut startled and reared. Unable to stop the horse from bolting, Laurel screamed.
Her cry reached Will, and he wheeled toward them. “Go, Elizabeth! Help her,” he commanded.
Heart pounding, holding her breath, she watched Will thrusting and cutting with his rapier, saw the second rider fall back before him. Only then did she obey.
Laurel’s chestnut raced wildly across the rough ground. Elizabeth urged her horse to greater speed, felt grateful at being within reach of catching them at the bend in the creek.
Without warning, Laurel’s mare again reared up, its eyes rolling in fear. Nearly there, Elizabeth stretched out her hand to help. Her face pale with fear, Laurel reached for her, missed, and tumbled off the bucking horse, striking her head on a rotting tree trunk.
“No!” Elizabeth screamed as she slid from her horse. She stumbled over the rough ground and fell to her knees at Laurel’s side.
“Laurel, I am here to help you. I am here,” she repeated over and over, stroking her face where blood streamed over her still features.
Elizabeth gathered up the hem of her cloak, pressing it against the gushing wound on Laurel’s forehead.
Blood soaked through the cloth, staining the cream velvet lining, turning it red. Sobbing, she pressed harder, desperate to stop the flow which covered her hands and wrists.
Laurel’s blood burned Elizabeth’s birthmark until it began to tingle.
The scalding tingling seeped through her skin, coursing through her veins, filling her mind with images and words. Whispers of old ways and the pagan gods who had forged her girdle to protect the women of her line.
Cybil had told her that someday she would understand the magic which lived within her. Elizabeth had feared the moment, wished for it never to come. Yet now, it called to her to help Laurel. Still fearful, still not understanding, she knew she must follow the commands whispering through her. With trembling fingers, Elizabeth pressed one of the jeweled crescents of her girdle against Laurel’s wound.
In my hands, please let it heal her.
Slowly the deep cut closed, leaving a moon-shaped scar. As it did, her birthmark blazed hotter, glowing bright, until slowly it began to fade and cool.
The whispers told me true. In my hands the girdle has given me the magical power to heal Laurel’s wounds.
Trembling with the knowledge, Elizabeth cradled Laurel in her arms, rocking her. Tears nearly blinded her. “Now please wake up…please wake up…please wake up.”
Laurel’s fair lashes remained a fan beneath her closed eyes.
Sobbing, Elizabeth felt for Laurel’s heartbeat and the slow, soft breath coming from between her parted lips. She lives!
Gasping for air between her sobs, Elizabeth rested her cheek against Laurel’s forehead. Forgive me. My power is not great enough to awaken you.
Terror a living force inside her, Elizabeth looked up, seeking Will.
Are you safe? Please, please, come to me.
Instead she found two more rough-looking, bearded men rushing out of the woods toward her.
Fear became a cold determination which gave her the strength to cradle Laurel in one arm and pull the tiny dagger from her girdle.
She felt the hoof beats of a galloping horse before she saw Will, brandishing his cutting sword, attack the men so very close to where she cradled Laurel in her arms. Once he appeared, all fear fled. As the primal knowledge of how to help Laurel had come to her, so did a deep certainty of Will’s power and desire to protect her.
Ferocious in battle, he felled the first rider and engaged the second.
She held her breath as they clashed swords again and again. Will’s great black horse reared and with one bold downward cut of his blade, Will vanquished the last thief.
A moment later, blood splattered on his leather jerkin, his face red and bruised, Will knelt beside her. His eyes searched her face and
his hands roamed over her body as they had when they danced. “Tell me, did they hurt you? Are you harmed?”
“No,” she swallowed a sob. “Laurel fell and struck her head. I cannot awaken her.”
“Can you ride?”
She nodded, scrabbling to her feet as Will swept Laurel up in his arms. Mounting his horse, Laurel tight in front of him, he stared at Elizabeth, a question in his eyes. “Do I ask too much of you?”
“No. I shall keep up with you, Will,” she promised.
Giving her no quarter, Will raced back to Dunham Castle and she stayed by his side. The wind tore at her clothes and took away her breath. It hurt to draw air into her lungs, so full was she of terror for Laurel and a fearful acceptance of her newly discovered powers.
What am I and how should I use such enormous power and understand its limits and its price?
Reaching the guardhouse, Will waved to a young man with locks gleaming fiery red in the sunlight. “Tom, summon my grandfather!” he commanded.
“He is in the castle!” Tom shouted back, turning to follow orders.
Trailing Will through the long corridors, Elizabeth ran to keep up with his powerful strides as they entered Laurel’s chamber.
Her maids gasped, their faces frightened.
“Loosen your mistress’s clothing,” he commanded and placed Laurel gently on the bed.
A wave of unfamiliar darkness swept over Elizabeth’s sight and she swayed, trying desperately to stay erect.
Will caught her, his warm hand cupping her neck beneath her hair, fallen loose in their mad ride. “Forgive me. I pushed you too hard.”
Once again so close to him, Elizabeth fell silent, only watching his eyes as he gently seated her on the chair beside the bed.
What might my powers mean for the two of us?
The door burst open and Charles Grey, carrying a black leather box, hurried into the room.
Will turned away to speak softly to his grandfather. “Laurel fell from her horse and struck her head. She has not awakened.”
Elizabeth watched Charles Grey carefully examine Laurel, so still and pale upon the bed. He paused, rubbing his fingertips slowly over and over the crescent scar on her forehead. “This is new.”
Their eyes met, and she saw knowledge in his.
Somehow he knows the magic I performed.
The pounding feeling of being pulled down a path both welcome yet frightening weakened her as she held his wise gaze.
“Stay here, Lady Elizabeth,” he said quietly. At last he looked away and up at his grandson. “Will, it must be you who summons the duke to tell him I shall restore Laurel to him. Then he will believe.”
With a nod, Will hurried from the room.
“Now, Lady Elizabeth, I will prepare an elixir. You must help me force Laurel to swallow it.” From his black box he pulled out three bottles of different-colored liquids. He mixed two into one until the fluid began to turn a light green and then bubbled to the top of the vial.
Elizabeth rose, motioning the maid away. Taking her place, Elizabeth held Laurel’s shoulders and head up so Will’s grandfather could slowly carefully spoon the thin liquid between her pale lips.
“Yes. That shall do.” He sighed, placing the bottle back into his box. “Now we must let her rest.”
His face ashen, the duke ran into the chamber and fell to his knees beside the bed. “Laurel, my dear. I am here with you.” He grasped one of her small hands between his wide palms.
Torn between giving the duke and Laurel privacy and her burning desire to stay in this room to help in any way she could, Elizabeth waited for a sign to tell her what to do.
She felt Will’s power and heat before he placed a goblet of wine on the table beside her.
“Here, Elizabeth. Drink this for strength. You are pale and trembling. I sense you wish to stay.”
“As you will stay,” she said softly, lifting the goblet still warm from his hands to her lips.
Elizabeth ached at the firm set of Will’s jaw and the anguish in his eyes as he watched the duke bending his head over Laurel, kissing her bruised brow.
“Yes,” Will said, “I will stay.”
“Then we shall stay together.” Their eyes met and again she saw the forbidden desire which quickened her heart beat.
Yes, Will. I too feel a need to steal these moments together which frightens us both.
“Yes, Elizabeth, we will stay here together. For Laurel.”
He took a stance before the door as if to fight off everything or anyone who might enter this safe, loving haven they were creating.
His grandfather turned away from the bed. “Will, it shall be a long day and even longer night. You have other duties to perform for the duke.”
His gaze sweeping over the room, lingering on her face, Will hesitated for three painful beats of her heart. She caught her breath when, with a curt nod, he turned, stalking out.
“You must also take your leave, Lady Elizabeth.” Charles Grey lifted her hand, urging her from the chair.
Shaking her head, she glanced at the duke kneeling beside the bed.
“We will help both Laurel and his Grace by giving them privacy. Rest and return later with your strength and kindness.”
Fatigue, fear, and confusion warring within her, Elizabeth gazed into Charles Grey’s eyes. His steadiness gave her strength and she nodded. “Yes. I understand what you need from me, and I shall do as you ask.”
Dunham Castle, 1601
I have begun a journey beyond any I could have deemed possible.
I am only now beginning to understand the power of my birthmark and what lives within me. My old nurse, Cybil, told me false. I must be a witch, for in my hands, my celestial girdle has the power to heal. Yet I am not all powerful, for I cannot awaken Laurel from her sleep.
I pray to learn how to use these magical powers I have been given. And I yearn to understand how I can control my desires to be one with Will Grey instead of with my betrothed, Carlyle.
I feel as if I am wandering through a waking nightmare where I do not know which way to turn to awaken. I pray soon the way shall become clear for all of us.
Chapter Four
In silence, Alice helped Elizabeth bathe in scented water, gently washing away the blood and filth of her ill-fated ride. Nothing could cleanse her feverish thoughts.
“What can I do to help you?” Alice asked quietly, her spirit seemingly subdued by the tragedy.
“I don’t know what to do,” Elizabeth whispered, her gaze studying the celestial girdle and the mark of magic on her wrist.
What powers do you possess which I must yet learn? How might I still help Laurel?
“I know you wish Granny Cybil was here.” Alice sighed, her gaze on Elizabeth’s birthmark. “She has the eye to see what’s to be done. All I can do is make you ready for whatever might come and remind you that Granny Cybil says magic has its price.”
Alice’s words ringing through her head, Elizabeth allowed her long hair to be brushed until it cascaded freely about her shoulders and down her back. Frightening thoughts and unanswered questions quickened her breath, making the air feel stale and heavy in her chambers.
“I can’t breathe in here.”
Nodding, Alice set down the brush. “Aye. Fresh air is what you need.”
Suddenly eager to be out of doors, Elizabeth carefully wound her golden girdle over her loose cream gown and fled, leaving Alice alone.
Elizabeth made her way outside, into the dying afternoon which threw shadows upon the dusty apron of the courtyard surrounded by a bake house, brewery, barns, and stables.
She spotted Will, his hair gilded by the setting sun, as he stood surrounded by his men. She stayed in the shadows to watch him, his beautiful face animated, as he spoke to the young soldi
er who had been on watch at the castle wall. She caught snatches of their conversation. “Tom…training…troops…border.”
When Will moved to examine a horse the blacksmith brought to him, the red-haired young soldier’s eyes followed, worship on his young, freckled face.
Will moved among all the men working in the courtyard. He gripped the armorer by the shoulder, patiently pointing out defects in the shield. He gave a quick smile and an approving nod to the farrier.
Here was a leader who was buffing his men like diamonds to be shining instruments for the duke.
Yet another great wave of longing for what could never be between them and a desperate rebellion against that fate swept over her. Could my magic make him mine? What price would I be willing to pay to be with him?
Tears stinging behind her eyes, she forced herself to turn away before she flung herself at his feet so desperate was her need for him.
Don’t go, Elizabeth.
Her birthmark burned, her celestial girdle tightened around her body, commanding her to swirl back to answer him.
…
For some time Will had known Elizabeth watched from the shadows. He’d tried not to react, tried to perform his duty with his men. Until she turned to leave and an aching desire for her to stay swept over him.
Don’t go, Elizabeth.
As if she heard his thought, she turned back to meet his gaze.
Her eyes darkened to the deepest green of the forest as he moved to where she stood in the shadows beneath the outer gallery.
Honor demands I send her away.
“The cold of night is falling, Lady Elizabeth. You should return to the warmth of the castle.”
All the living color drained from her exquisite skin. “Did you not ask me to stay, Will?”
Only with my mind and heart. “Nay, I did not call out to you.” The air between them beat with emotion. He fought it, squaring his shoulders, knowing duty demanded he defeat these traitorous desires.
Written in the Stars Page 4
