by Jill Gregory
Then he turned back to Brianne, who crouched tautly on the bed. Reaching out, he tugged gently at the pale ribbons at the collar of her gown. They slid apart, and the gown fell partly open.
“Do you wear a necklace that I may admire?” he asked teasingly, leaning forward. “Come, wife, let me see what is beneath your gown. I pledge to admire it most attentively—necklace or no.”
Brianne knew with certainty as she gazed into his eyes that this moonstone he wore was the one that held her powers.
It is in the possession of the man who comes for you this morn... A warrior, tall and strong—and a gray stone castle set upon a hill. You will find the moonstone there.
And here it was.
Was Ralf, then, a part of her destiny? She stared, breathless and searching, into his rugged face. Had fate ordained that this fierce fighting king steal her away while Eadric still crossed the river with his soldiers?
She felt deeply all at once that it was so, felt it powerfully with all of her being. Something was drawing her to Ralf. Was it magic? Or... love?
Or was there no difference between the two?
Brianne caught her breath, quivering with the intensity of white-hot feelings too sudden and too strong for comprehension.
The nearness of the moonstone seemed to impart to her a faint glimmer of power, a hint of Sight. Now she understood what had caused her lightheadedness and the flashing prisms of color these past days. It was the moonstone, reaching out to her, casting out to her the first pale shimmers of Sight. She blinked even now as shadows, colors, dancing images swirled through a white mist all around her. In the flickering chamber of scarlet and gold, with the scent of spice and herbs, cold flames seemed to burst over her flesh, then turned to burning pinpricks of ice.
Something quivered deep inside her heart as Ralf’s large, callused hands slid her gown off her shoulders. The night outside was cold, but the room and the fire and this man were warm, and she no longer wanted to run away.
Ralf drew the gown from her body and tossed it aside. He felt strangely awkward, for he knew Brianne was an innocent. He wanted her suddenly more than he had ever wanted any other woman, differently than he had ever wanted any other woman. His loins tensed, ached. He wasn’t quite certain how to behave with a chaste princess inexperienced at lovemaking.
Approach. Set sights. Invade.
Gently.
He didn’t want to hurt her. And she looked so fragile with her fairy hair and slender form. Fury tore at him when he thought of Eadric, that murderer of women, trying to claim her. Eadric will never touch Brianne while I live, he vowed.
Gathering her in his arms, Ralf drew her down upon the bed beside him, and gazed for a moment into that fascinatingly lovely face. Her eyes glowed like cat’s eyes in the brilliant firelight, her lips looked petal-soft, as full and as velvety as roses.
She is enchanting, he thought, his blood heating.
He kissed her on the mouth, a deep, hungering kiss that awoke an answering response from her. She was blazing hot in his arms, her face innocent, wondering, a little afraid, her body passionately aware, alive with need.
Ralf groaned and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the taut spire of her nipple.
“Brianne, do not be afraid. I will do my best not to hurt you. You are chaste, I know—a maiden—and such a lovely maiden.” He caught his breath at the silken beauty of her body and told her, “Such pain as there must be will be fleeting—and then, my queen, you and I will know the joy of our union.”
Brianne couldn’t speak. His touch had sent a blaze of heat curling through her which made her want to gasp aloud. Her breasts ached with torturous sensitivity beneath his caressing hands.
Reaching out to touch his cheek, she found she couldn’t look away from his dark, intent face. Time seemed suspended. The world was gone, but for this castle, this chamber, this bed.
Ralf’s eyes held her spellbound. She saw in his gaze a raw passion and intense desire, and an almost ruthless purposefulness that would have made him appear dangerous but for the fact that he held her gently and caressed her, his words quiet and gentle.
When he leaned down to her again, she sensed the inner tension in him.
She knew then—be it from the Sight or her woman’s instinct—that he was trying to restrain his passions to keep from hurting her, trying to ensure her enjoyment of their marriage consummation by pleasuring her.
Then he kissed her again, his mouth hot upon hers, pressing at first softly, then seeking hungrily, insistently at her lips. His kisses went deeper, from sweet to demanding, and Brianne’s senses swirled. Pleasure such as she had never guessed at ignited within her.
Ralf’s strong hands roamed boldly along the curves of her body. His muscles bulged and pressed against her flesh, his kisses tasting more potent than any spiced wine.
When his tongue slipped between the softness of her lips, she gasped and would have recoiled in fright but he held her close, tangling his hands in her hair. Then as he tasted her, his tongue seeking and stroking, hot flames arced through her, and suddenly she was kissing him back with a wild hunger.
“Ralf,” she whispered wonderingly, and held him ever closer.
And then this near-stranger who was now her husband covered the length of her with his powerful body, and she felt the strength and hardness of him against her own soft limbs.
Moaning with pleasure as Ralf rained kisses upon her eyelids, her cheeks, her throat, she trembled with need and desire. Her fingers caressed the muscles of his massive frame as his hands explored all the curves of her body. His mouth and tongue delighted her until she scarce knew what she did.
And the moonstone pressed against her breast, crushed between their two bodies.
Suddenly, as the pleasures of passion swept through her, brilliant colors began to spin wildly before Brianne’s eyes. The chamber whirled in a blur of scarlet and green and gold. She caught the scents of wine and herbs and spices—and of the man whose touch filled her with pleasure. Visions danced before her closed eyes, misty visions of wraiths and fairies, then a vision of a forest and a great wolf running through gnarled oaks.
Suddenly, a new vision revealed an infant swathed in a saffron blanket, soundly asleep in a cradle within some darkened chamber. Brianne sensed nearby the cold, harsh blade of a knife, and went suddenly cold with horror.
Then she knew nothing more of any vision, but was only aware of the man whose arms were around her, and of the bed in which she found herself. Ralf was making love to her, touching her, stroking her gently and kissing her—awakening her to sensations and emotions previously undreamed of.
Their lovemaking brought its own magic—a breathless, mysterious magic, as deeply exotic as any other.
Wonder filled her as he pushed inside her. After the first flash of pain, his powerful thrusting movements evoked a primitive unfurling of sensation so deep and joyous it swept through her like a wave of delirium. Brianne was caught up in a maelstrom of passion and need, and then came pleasure, heat, and a dizzying fulfillment that left her spent and glowing like a pearl in Ralf’s protective arms. He was tender as he kissed her breasts, her throat, and then at last her lips. Afterward they lay quietly together in each other’s arms.
Their eventual slumber was deep and undisturbed until dawn.
When Brianne awoke it was to absolute quiet. And though her eyes remained closed, she somehow knew that faint, radiant light now refreshed the sky, that the luminous new day was beginning.
Her first thought was of Ralf. Sleepy, peaceful, and warm, she remembered how beautiful it had been between them last night—how he had shown her his love, taught her of love. She was about to reach out for him, needing to touch him, when she remembered the moonstone.
She paused and slowly opened her eyes.
I must tell Ralf of the moonstone’s importance.
He would give it to her. She knew he would. And then she could warn Emma before it was too late.
; She would tell him the whole story—of her lost powers, of her sister’s danger. She would wear it from sunrise to sunset, and then, tonight, her powers would be strong enough to let her reach out to Emma...
But even as she turned in the great bed, seeking him, she knew without seeing that she was alone.
Ralf was gone.
So was the moonstone.
Flinging herself from the bed, she gave a gasp as her knees buckled beneath her. Piercing silver lights flickered against her eyelids and she closed her eyes tightly against the sharp thrumming pain.
Then a soft kind of light flowed through her. And with it came a deep flash of knowledge.
At last, my powers. They have found me...
A tiny trickle of her powers of enchantment, locked within the moonstone, must have rubbed off in the night, glimmering through her merely from her nearness to the stone. It would take some time for her body and her spirit to grow accustomed to them, and when she actually wore the moonstone around her neck, the effects, she knew—until she learned to balance them—could be staggering.
Even now, faintness washed over her. Sinking down on the bed once more, gathering her strength, Brianne gritted her teeth against the dizziness and the weakness in her limbs, and forced herself to remember as much as possible of the visions that had danced in her head last night when Ralf had held her, and the moonstone had pressed against her.
What did the visions mean? Surely, the last warned of danger to Emma’s baby. Imminent danger.
A terrifying, choking sensation washed over her as all at once she realized something that filled her with despair.
The assassin was about to strike. He would kill Emma, Feour, and the baby in less than a fortnight, much less. He had moved up his plans.
She felt it, sensed it, knew it as surely as if she had seen him in a magic mirror.
It might be today—tomorrow at the latest!
Frantic, Brianne gave a cry of desperation. There was no time to waste.
“Ralf!” she shouted.
No answer.
“Myla!” Surging to her feet, she pulled on her white gown. On unsteady legs, she made her way toward the adjoining chamber, even as the door opened and Myla, accompanied by two other women, burst into the room.
“Where has the king gone?” Brianne demanded, grasping a carved chest for support. Her head was clearing a little now, and the tingling weakness in her legs seemed to be fading. Still, Brianne did not let go of the chest. “I must see him at once.”
“My lady, the king has gone to battle!” Myla’s eyes were wide with fright at the distraught expression on the young queen’s face. “Why, surely, he told you he was to leave! The entire castle knew he was to ride out by the hour of sunrise to engage Eadric!”
Yes, he had told her. But dazed from the passion that had burned like a fiery torch between them, and with her senses distorted by the heady influx of power from contact with the moonstone, she had all but forgotten Ralf’s intentions to leave the castle.
“Where?” she asked, straightening, letting go of the chest.
“I beg pardon, my lady?”
“Where has he ridden?” Impatience darkened her eyes. “Where is this battle to take place?”
Myla shook her head helplessly.
“I couldn’t possibly say, my lady... only the king’s advisers and his soldiers know that...”
“Find out. I must know. At once!” Brianne suddenly noticed the other serving women glancing at her askance.
They must all think me mad.
“I am ready to break my fast.” She spoke in an even, controlled tone that cost her much. “Bring the morning meal at once. And fetch water for washing.”
But she kept a taut hand on Myla’s sleeve as the other women went out. “Stay,” she urged in a whisper.
Strange to think that only a day earlier she had plotted to deceive Myla, to use her somehow to escape the castle. Now she saw the woman as her only ally, someone she must enlist to willingly help her find Ralf and the moonstone.
The moment they were alone, she stared intently into the woman’s face. “My instinct tells me to trust you. I am going to follow it. Myla, the moonstone that the king wears about his neck is magical. It contains a powerful magic that lies under my control, a magic I must use to save lives in the hours ahead. I cannot explain—I can only tell you that those I love will be murdered if I do not take possession of the moonstone today.”
“What is it you wish me to do, my lady?” Myla asked quickly, concern flushing her ashen skin, making her eyes bulge as she clasped her hands together as if in prayer.
Brianne paced the floor, thinking swiftly. “First, I must know where Ralf has ridden to, where he intends to do battle with Eadric. Then I will need a stalwart horse and provisions—and a way out of the castle.”
Myla’s mouth fell open. She started to protest, but Brianne ignored her. “Lastly,” she went on, oblivious of the serving woman’s dismay, “I will need one more thing from you, Myla.”
Her eyes glimmered keenly in the spreading peach glow of dawn. She glanced down at the linen gown draping her slim form, then back to Myla’s distraught face, speaking crisply.
“I will need a disguise.”
Chapter Five
The snow held off until late afternoon, and by that time Brianne was deep in the heart of the west country, riding at a hard pace for Raumerin Cog, where Ralf meant to lie in ambush for Eadric’s army.
Ralf had gotten word that the enemy was expected to advance across Raumerin Cog on the journey to Kerric. And Ralf knew just where to hide in wait.
Through young Cerdic, the king’s squire, along with one of the men-at-arms left to guard the castle walls, Myla had discovered for Brianne some of what Ralf had learned the night before: that Eadric’s troops had not been so far behind after all when he had pursued Ralf from Morksbury. And that Eadric had swiftly assembled a sizable enough force to challenge the King of Kerric in his own realm. He was furiously determined to wipe out his enemy for once and always—and to reclaim his stolen bride.
Fear whipped through Brianne as she rode. A brutal battle lay ahead of Ralf and his men. And Eadric was a vicious opponent. Even her father had grown to fear him as he had feared no other king.
If anything should happen to Ralf...
It won’t, she told herself fiercely, leaning low over her mare’s thick mane. Ralf was a brilliant warrior, they all said it was so. The finest in all the land. He would not be killed—he could not!
When she thought of how much he’d come to mean to her in such a short time, her heart nearly splintered with emotion. Only a few days ago, she had been prepared to sacrifice herself in marriage to Eadric of Wen—now she could not imagine what it would be like to share a marriage bed with anyone but the gentle warrior who had claimed her heart.
She wanted his touch, his kiss. She wanted to see his dark eyes light up again when he looked at her, and glint with pleasure when she drew him eagerly to her as she had last night.
Ralf, she cried out in silent, fervent appeal. Guard yourself well. Come back to me.
It began to snow.
Brianne was forced to slow the mare, forced to peer blindly through the thick snowflakes that blew across her cheeks and eyelashes, and blustered in through the folds of her hooded cloak.
She was disguised as an old peddler woman, swathed in layers of drab tunics and breeches, and enveloped in a ragged brown woolen cloak that was too long and bulky for her and was frayed at the sleeves. A deep hood completely hid her fair head—which she’d powdered—as well as most of her face. She intended to bow her head down if she met anyone on the way.
So far, she had encountered no one. But as the afternoon waned, and she neared the plains of Raumerin Cog, her luck ran out. She had just reached the rutted bank where she had to ford a frozen river and was preparing to head the mare across the ice-encrusted, shallow waters when a party of riders swooped down out of the oak trees on the opposite bank. They spotted
her—and charged as one.
Brianne found herself surrounded before she could turn the mare and flee into the tangled scrub of the woods.
“Halt, old woman! Where do you think you’re going in this blizzard? Urgent business, have you?” A stout man with sharp brown eyes and a soldier’s light armor grabbed at the mare’s bridle and held the horse firm.
Brianne saw with dismay that they were all soldiers, and that they carried the green banner of Eadric of Wen.
Scouts, then, sent ahead to guard against an ambush.
Apparently, they had not discovered Ralf’s army hidden in the hills of the Cog—and Ralf must have let them pass unhindered, the better to lure Eadric on.
Brianne cursed her ill luck. She must get away from them quickly—and take care not to jeopardize Ralf’s plan.
Keeping her head down, she prayed that the folds of the hood would fully conceal her hair and her face, which she had streaked with dirt before leaving the castle.
“Let me pass, kind sirs, let me pass.” Brianne managed to croak in a voice that sounded thin and reedy, like old Linia back in Morksbury. “I’ve lost my way and need to find shelter before nightfall,” she whined.
“There are no villages near this place. Off with you, old crone! You want Nardinium’s Ford to the east.” The stout man who held her mount’s bridle released it with a hiss of scorn.
But before Brianne could turn the mare aside, another man, the tallest of the riders, with a mangy beard the color of ale, brushed forward on his steed and grasped her by the arm.
“Whoa, what trick is this? Ogbar, you fool! Look,” he cried, tearing back the hood that hid Brianne’s face. “This wench is no more an old hag than I am!”
