Twilight Magic

by Shari Anton

  Darian watched the dagger flip in the king’s hands, the lion’s head on the hilt proclaiming the shining weapon as his own. Someone must have stolen it after he’d returned to the barracks early this morning, stuffed the weapon into his pack, then left to break fast with William before attending this farce of a meeting. The thief would have had ample time, nigh on two hours, to commit the murder and leave Darian’s dagger with de Salis’s body.

  Was that someone a mercenary? He had to believe it probable, though ’twas sickening to realize there might be a traitor in their midst. Darian didn’t know who, and hoped he would live long enough to expose the bastard.

  But why had Bishop Henry made so public a spectacle over what could have been handled quietly, secretly?

  Naturally, any murder in Southwark would come to Bishop Henry’s attention. He resided in Winchester Palace in Southwark, and collected rents and fees from the taverns, brothels, and sundry businesses that provided lewd, exciting amusement on the south bank of the Thames.

  Henry hadn’t approved of the king allowing Darian to dispose of de Salis, and the king couldn’t have forgotten that yester noon he’d given permission for an assassination.

  Darian knew King Stephen couldn’t admit publicly he’d condoned an assassination. If asked, all who’d been present yesterday would deny any involvement in the decision to assassinate de Salis. If Darian were caught, not one of them would come to his aid.

  Having accepted the mission, Darian knew he took all the risks, bore all the responsibility, would receive no reward or acclaim beyond his pay.

  The king also must realize Darian wouldn’t have killed de Salis in so public a place as Watling Street, but in the countryside, quietly and efficiently, making it seem the man had simply disappeared.

  The whole thing stank of a conspiracy to frame him. The king finally stopped flipping the dagger. “You admit this is your dagger?”

  “As I said, I have no notion of how it came to be found near the body. The last I saw it was early this morn when I placed it with my other belongings.”

  “And you cannot produce witnesses to attest to your whereabouts last night?”

  Not a trustworthy witness. The two men he’d met with would never pass the bishop’s test. Honor demanded Darian not utter their names, much less ask them to testify on his behalf.

  “I fear not, Sire.”

  “You give us nothing on which to trust your protest of innocence, Darian.”

  King Stephen’s tone and expression said he wanted to dismiss Bishop Henry’s charge, or be given an explanation for the dagger’s presence in Southwark, or for someone to come forward on Darian’s behalf.

  Darian could give him nothing.

  “All I offer you is my word of honor—”

  Henry huffed. “The word of a Flemish mercenary? You ask too much!”

  From the back of the chamber came a shout. “Justice!” Another voice picked it up, and then another, until soon the word reverberated off the walls in a damning chant, the injustice of their damnation churning his stomach.

  Darian considered making an attempt to escape, but even if he could push through the crowd to the door, he considered it cowardly and akin to an admission of guilt.

  So he stood his ground, feeling the noose tightening around his neck, choking off his breath.

  The king waved the crowd to silence, and the deepening quiet was almost as nerve-wrenching as the chant.

  “You give us no recourse, Darian. If this is your dagger, and if, as my brother testifies, it was found beside de Salis’s body, then we must condemn you as guilty. Guards, remove the prisoner and inform the hangman.”

  Sweat broke out on his brow. Bile rose in his throat. Guards appeared on either side of him and clamped onto his arms. Thinking reasonably proved taxing.

  Certainly Earl William would protest and find a way to stop the hanging. His life surely wasn’t meant to end in so unjust and ignoble a fashion.

  Then Darian heard footsteps, light but steady across the floor, and he couldn’t help but turn toward the sound.

  Lady Emma de Leon stood at the forward edge of the crowd, her hands clutching her topaz bliaut. She dipped into a deep curtsy.

  “Sire, if I may be allowed to approach?”

  The king sighed and gave her a condescending smile. “Lady Emma, now is not the time to speak of your petition. I am aware of your wish to aid your sister and will—”

  “You misunderstand my boldness, Sire. What I have to say has naught to do with Nicole, though if you would grant me a moment later to consider my request, I would be forever most grateful.” She licked her lips, as if they’d gone dry. “What I must tell you . . . that is, confess . . . well, I believe you do not wish to hang an innocent man.”

  On the edge of his awareness, Darian saw the king’s eyebrow arch upward. Bishop Henry left his post by the litter to stand at King Stephen’s side. Even as his instincts distrusted her uninvited and suspect intrusion, Darian noticed the lady’s eyes were the deep, soft brown of a doe, and just as wide open and luminous.

  But where a doe’s eyes shone with innocence, Emma’s were veiled. She didn’t look at him, intent on the king, who motioned her forward.

  So many questions flew through Darian’s mind, he couldn’t sort them all during the few steps Emma took to stand a respectable distance from the king. He knew, however, that she couldn’t possibly know where he’d been last night. No respectable lady would dare visit Southwark after nightfall when whores and drunkards ruled the night. And above all, Emma impressed him as a lady gifted with intelligence.

  She might, however, know who had stolen his dagger. A possibility. A damn miracle, even.

  “Confessions should be heard in private, my child,” the bishop commented, his tone no less condescending than the king’s. “I would be most willing to step aside and hear whatever troubles you so deeply.”

  Darian almost snickered aloud at Henry’s obviously self-serving offer.

  Emma graciously bowed her head. “I thank you, Lord Bishop, but what I must say should be heard by all in attendance.” Then she squared her shoulders, took a long, fortifying breath, and rushed on. “Darian of Bruges is innocent of murder, Sire. He does not tell you of his whereabouts last night because he wishes to protect...me.”

  The implication slowly sank in, and Darian could only stand shocked at what she’d done.

  The guards released him abruptly, a welcome occurrence, though he feared the reprieve wouldn’t last.

  Sweet Jesu, by suggesting they’d been together last night, Lady Emma shed doubt on his guilt, but at a high price to her already tattered reputation.

  Why did she lie? For what reason did she interfere? Truly, she had nothing to gain—or did she? She must! No noblewoman would come forward to save a commoner, and a foreign commoner at that, unless she stood to gain... something. But what?

  Whatever her reason, he couldn’t allow her to become entangled in his affairs. Certes, her lie would only make matters worse when the truth came to light.

  Darian opened his mouth to refute her; Earl William’s hand clamped down hard on his forearm, the order clear. Hush! Darian found himself obeying out of sheer habit of following the earl’s orders.

  The king looked suspicious, as well he should. “Lady Emma, do we understand you correctly? You say you bear witness to Darian’s whereabouts last night?”

  Emma nodded.

  “All night?”

  A blush bloomed on her cheekbones as she nodded again.

  Murmurs from the crowd weren’t complimentary. Darian leaned toward William, who still held tight to his arm, and whispered, “This is madness. The lady lies.”

  “So let her.”

  “This is wrong.”

  William rolled his eyes. “Wrong or no, she gives you your freedom. God’s bones, Darian, allow the lady to have her way!”

  Sensible advice, but it irked him to stand there and allow a woman to save him from being punished for a crime he didn�
��t commit!

  The murmurs grew louder and more damning. Harlot. Whore. Fornicator. Hellfire, the woman didn’t deserve their condemnation! And Bishop Henry could well demand she fast for a year as penance. Why the devil did she place herself in such a position?

  Bishop Henry, his countenance as dark and threatening as a storm cloud, raised a silencing hand. Not until the crowd quieted did he ask of Emma, “Where?”

  To Darian’s unwarranted amusement, Lady Emma de Leon insolently raised an eyebrow.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Answer!”

  “The queen’s solar.”

  A gasp rose from the crowd and the bishop puffed up in ire.

  “Then we shall send for the queen’s handmaidens and ask them to confirm Darian’s presence in the solar.”

  “The queen is frugal with her candles,” Emma stated. “Those not asleep would not have seen Darian’s face clearly, nor would they pay any heed to his occupying a pallet at the far end of the solar.”

  Bishop Henry’s control slipped as he addressed the king. “Sire, this woman is the daughter of a traitor! Her word cannot be trusted any more than the mercenary’s. I say she lies!”

  “Why would she lie, Henry?”

  Exactly what Darian wondered!

  “I know not, but to believe her is to allow a murderer to go free!”

  Hands clasped behind his back, his expression thoughtful, King Stephen took two steps toward Emma, bringing them to within arm’s reach of each other.

  “We are hard-pressed to learn the full truth, my lady. As my brother says, your word is suspect. Is there nothing further you can offer?”

  Emma again licked her lips, and for the first time she glanced at him. Not long enough for him to guess what she was thinking.

  In a voice so low Darian strained to hear, she said, “I can tell you of his scars. The one beneath his left ribs is thin and long. The others I would rather not speak of, if I need not.”

  How the hell did she know?

  The bishop didn’t give him time to contemplate. “I beseech thee, Sire, to consider how this woman claims to have soiled the sanctity of our beloved queen’s solar! She has fornicated with a man not her husband! Punishment under Church law—”

  “We are aware of Church law, Henry.” The king turned toward his brother. “We are not in a Church court, but a royal one, and while we take a dim view of this morning’s revelations, we are inclined to mercy. Darian of Bruges shall marry Lady Emma de Leon and both will leave the court.”

  Darian’s heart leapt to his throat. Marriage! Never. Not to any woman, particularly not to a woman who took advantage of his misfortune to gain... something.

  The crowd thought the king’s proclamation a grand one. Bishop Henry looked stunned. And the woman whose interference had brought them to this pass—her chin drooped to her chest, her eyes closed.

  Unable to hold his peace any longer, Darian shook off William’s staying hand. “Sire, I cannot say why the lady has invented this tale, but we did not—”

  Emma’s head snapped up. “Certes we did!” Determined to ignore her, Darian continued. “We have never known each other in carnal manner. In truth, I have never seen Lady Emma before this morning. There is no reason for us to marry.”

  Now in high dungeon, Emma crossed her arms. “I agree. No reason whatsoever.”

  “We do not recall giving either of you a choice!” King Stephen said. “You will pledge to each other with all here as witness. Lady Emma, I will have your consent.”

  She took a deep breath, her irritation unrelenting. “Only because you so order, Sire.”

  King Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “Darian?”

  For the blink of an eye Darian thought to protest once more, but knew damn well that he either married Emma de Leon now or suffer a rope slipped around his neck. So be it. Better to live and deal with the mess later.

  But not much later. The thought of marriage appealed to him as much as hanging. He wanted no wife, no children, no one to whom he must feel a responsibility. No one to mourn for him or to mourn in return.

  He almost choked on his consent.

  “If you insist, Sire.”

  Bishop Henry looked crestfallen. “But, Stephen, what of de Salis? Will you allow his murderer to go unpunished?”

  The king glanced down at the dead man at his feet. “Haul him out of here as you hauled him in, Henry. We doubt the happy couple wishes a corpse in attendance as they exchange vows.”

  He wasn’t sure how Lady Emma felt about the presence of a corpse at their wedding, but to Darian it somehow seemed fitting.

  Chapter Three

  Even the absence of the corpse couldn’t help turn what should be a joyous, solemn occasion from a bleak mockery.

  Emma knew she’d gone too far, but didn’t know what she could have done differently. Had she not spoken out, Darian could now be on his way to the gallows instead of standing beside her before the king, who looked impossibly pleased with himself.

  Darian didn’t appear to be pleased in the least. He held himself plank stiff, his hands clasped behind his back, frowning mightily, giving all the impression he might prefer the gallows.

  Damn. The ungrateful wretch could truly look a bit less put out. She had saved his neck from a noose. She saved his life and he didn’t appreciate her sacrifice one whit. But then she didn’t appear any more pleased with this turn of events, even though it saved her from starving for a year.

  She should have remembered that nasty penance before confessing to fornicating with a man not her husband. But she’d been hard-pressed and blurted out the first credible tale that had come into her head.

  “Lady Emma, we require your vows.”

  Was it only four months ago she’d witnessed her sister’s wedding, listened to Gwendolyn pledge to Alberic? That hadn’t been the happiest of occasions, either, but at least the bride and groom had since come to an understanding and learned to love each other.

  Could she and Darian one day come to the same pass? Her vision of him had revealed they would become lovers, but showed her naught of afterward. Uncertainty nagged at her, making her once more wonder if she’d done right to interfere in Darian’s affairs.

  “Lady Emma?” the king prodded.

  “I take Darian of Bruges as my husband,” she said before her throat closed up, blocking vows of love and honor and obedience.

  Apparently the king didn’t notice because he immediately turned his attention to Darian, who sighed before he said, “I take Emma de Leon as my wife.”

  King Stephen clapped his hands. “We realize the haste prevents the gifting of a ring, but we are sure you can remedy the lack in a trice. Can you not, Darian?”

  Reluctantly, Darian nodded.

  “We are also certain you are aware that Emma de Leon is a royal ward, and therefore important to us. We will have your assurance she shall be properly sheltered, clothed, and fed by her husband.”

  Darian rolled his shoulders, as if adjusting them to this new burden. “I shall see to her maintenance.”

  Once over the amazement that the king would care what happened to her henceforth, Emma had to wonder what Darian considered proper maintenance. She might starve anyway.

  “Wonderful! Henry, would you kindly bless their union?”

  Bishop Henry’s expression clearly stated he would as soon excommunicate her, or worse. His blessing consisted of an angrily waved sign of the cross with no words, more a sign of dismissal than a blessing.

  Sweet mercy, she’d thwarted the plans of the most powerful bishop in the kingdom, and had the feeling that her victory might come back to haunt her.

  Or Darian.

  Had he murdered de Salis? Emma thought not. She believed his fervent protest of innocence, one of the reasons she’d come forward. Had she not believed Darian’s stalwart denials, never would she have meddled, not even to ensure her vision came true.

  “Go with our blessing,” King Stephen intoned, then turned around in dismiss
al.

  Darian grabbed hold of her arm, his grasp firm but not hurtful. The heat from his hand seeped through the sleeve of her topaz gown and sent tingles up her arm.

  Though he nudged her toward the door, she wasn’t yet ready to leave. Through all that had happened, she hadn’t completely forgotten the reason why she’d dared sneak into the king’s presence.

  “Not yet,” she told her new husband. “I must speak with King Stephen about—”

  “Have you not done enough harm for one day?”

  Emma bristled. “I need only a moment to make my request.”

  Darian sneered. “I doubt the king is of a mind to listen right now. We have been dismissed. Best we go before he changes his mind.”

  Emma glanced over her shoulder to see Bishop Henry speaking earnestly to King Stephen, Earl William standing nearby. None of them appeared in the mood to be interrupted—or merciful.

  Darian might be right. Approaching King Stephen about Nicole now might not be a good idea. Besides, in order to speak to the king, she would have to shake off Darian’s hand, and she doubted she could manage that without calling more undue attention to herself.

  The crowd parted to allow them to walk toward the door. Lewd comments accompanied insolent bows. She ignored the rabble, preferring to focus on the man whose stride became quicker as they neared the doorway, making it nigh impossible for her to keep up and maintain a modicum of dignity.

  The insufferable wretch! She understood his upset, which she shared. She hadn’t planned to marry him, just save his ungrateful hide! At the least he could allow her a measure of deportment!

  In the antechamber she flung off all pretense of dignity and jerked her arm from his hold.

  “Perhaps I should have allowed Bishop Henry his way!”

  His smile twisted with scorn. “I hear that if one pays the hangman well, he will ensure a quick death and hasty burial. Instead, I face a lifetime of suffering.... What the hell were you thinking, woman? What demon possessed you to conjure up that ludicrous tale?”

  Before she could respond, he stepped back two paces and ran an assessing gaze from her face down to her toes and back again, a blatant, knee-weakening appraisal of her attributes.