Twilight Magic

by Shari Anton

  He no longer had a family or home because the villagers near Bruges hadn’t done enough to protect themselves. Having escaped the carnage by luck only, blessed with William’s patronage, Darian had made his own way in the world, never forgetting that important lesson. With the exception of being accused of de Salis’s murder, he’d done a good job of taking care of himself thus far. And would again when the murderer was caught.

  The earl rose from his seat, signaling the end of supper. As the servants cleared away the bowls and refuse, everyone walked away to attend late-afternoon chores or see to evening duties.

  William walked Emma over to the stairs, her hand resting on his arm, her head bent toward him to better hear whatever he was saying.

  Lady Emma should marry the earl. Or some other man of his rank and wealth.

  Darian ignored a burst of revulsion, wishing the idea hadn’t popped into his head upon realizing how comfortable Emma and the earl were with each other. They might be years apart in age, but age made no difference in noble marriages. The two of them had far more in common than he and Emma.

  When the two of them drifted up the stairs—and he knew William would only fetch Emma’s letters, naught else—Darian reined in his unwarranted jealousy, turned around, and nearly tripped over a wolfhound.

  Rose must have been sitting behind him all through supper, awaiting a tidbit he’d never tossed her way.

  But there were no tidbits left on the table. And the responsibility for feeding the hound wasn’t his.

  He left her there and stalked off to fetch the ale he’d refused earlier and join the other mercenaries—where he belonged.

  The chamberlain claims he never set eyes on your petition. I fear you must write another.

  Emma rolled the parchment and laid it beside her on the bed, hoping Julia de Vere hadn’t considered it necessary to bed the chamberlain for such unsatisfactory information.

  Damn. She shouldn’t have to compose another petition for Nicole’s release from the abbey, but write it she would. Surely, parchment and quill and ink might be found somewhere in this castle. And perhaps the earl would agree to take the petition back to London when he returned.

  And perhaps—heaven be merciful—perhaps Earl William might be willing to present it directly to King Stephen, thus bypass the odious clerks and an unhelpful chamberlain altogether.

  Emma liked Earl William. He’d been attentive and friendly all through supper. She truly appreciated his efforts to be hospitable, unlike Darian, who’d been very quiet, almost brooding.

  Had something the earl said irritated him? Or was he upset at being seated next to her?

  The latter seemed more likely.

  He’d spoken not a word to her after her near mishap with Rose in the yard this morn, and he’d done his best to avoid her all the rest of the day. At supper he’d held himself aloof, taking no part in the conversations. Not that she expected Darian to be interested in tapestries and sinks, but she sensed they could have been talking of battles and he wouldn’t have voiced an opinion.

  Why was he so distant today when he’d been so gallant and kind last eve? Certes, if their kiss last eve was any indication, his defenses against their attraction weren’t as high or as strong as he wished. If by his silence he strove to bolster his fortifications, then he’d built them too high. ’Struth, he’d pulled inward so far he’d even ignored Rose!

  The hound shouldn’t be made to suffer because Darian happened to be in a bad mood.

  Maura had the right of it. That wolfhound should belong to Darian. Only look at how swiftly the hound obeyed him this morn. The command in his voice had halted Emma, too, as well as everyone around him. Not all men possessed a voice of command. Darian should be giving orders, not merely following them.

  Ferocious on the hunt or in battle, a wolfhound could also be the most loving and devoted of companions. The poor thing had sat behind Darian all through supper, awaiting a tidbit or kind word and received neither.

  Why Darian shunned the hound’s freely given, affectionate loyalty was beyond her.

  Emma shoved thoughts of Darian and the wolfhound aside as she picked up Gwendolyn’s letter, which she’d already read once. The second reading proved as exciting and disturbing as the first.

  She still wanted to dance for joy over Gwendolyn’s happiness in her marriage and at being with child, and nearly wept over her sister’s concern about Nicole. Apparently Gwendolyn had noticed the oddity in Nicole’s letters, too. Nicole was changing and Gwendolyn didn’t like the change, either.

  The resignation in the girl’s letters broke Emma’s heart. She had to get to Nicole and find out how a strong-headed, outspoken girl of ten could turn submissive in four short months.

  Bledloe Abbey was three hard days of riding away. She was no longer subject to the king’s will and she considered herself free to travel. Except Darian was now her husband, so she supposed she needed his permission. She also lacked the funds or means to get to the abbey.

  Emma rolled up Gwen’s letter and rose from the edge of the bed. The large room gave her space to pace.

  Would the earl give her aid? Perhaps, but then she would be even deeper in his debt, and would rather not be. Gar might be persuaded to provide her with a horse, or cart and driver, perhaps even guards. But that would put her in Gar’s debt, and she liked that even less.

  Could she convince Darian to take her? Would that not be the most sensible solution? But since he preferred to avoid her, would he refuse her? And how bound did he feel to obey William’s order to remain at Hadone?

  In frustration she plopped back down on the bed. Sweet mercy, at times like these she wished she could stare into a bowl of water or a garden pond and see what she wished to see. Then she would know if Nicole simply matured at a pace her sisters didn’t credit as possible, or if sadness or fear battered at the girl too hard.

  She might be able to tell Gwendolyn to plan for a son or daughter. She might know if Darian would be cleared of the murder charge.

  But mostly, she longed to peer into the future and see what became of her and Darian. She had to believe they would become lovers, but then what? How long would he remain her husband before he obtained an annulment—if he could obtain one? And if the Church approved the annulment, what would become of her then?

  Emma shook her head at her foolishness. To allow the visions meant accepting the good with the bad, and the bad could be horrific. If she allowed the visions and saw Gwendolyn die in childbirth as their mother had, she would be devastated. Nor did she want to know what vision had been forming in the bloody-hued water in the washbasin on the night of her arrival at Hadone.

  Of the visions she’d endured before learning how to halt them, several had come to pass, her mother’s death the most heart-wrenching.

  But a few remained a mystery. Like the identity of a little girl playing in a meadow blooming with spring flowers, whom Emma hadn’t yet met. A tall door made of oak into which was carved a beautiful rose. A rolled-up parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon, beside which sat a gold pendant in the shape of a clover.

  There were others, but none of them had remained sharp in her memory except these—besides the one of Darian, of course. That vision had been the clearest of all, and taken her several years to understand.

  Emma suspected some visions retained substance because within each she sensed both great sorrow and unbridled joy. What she didn’t know was whether the sorrow or the joy would dominate.

  Would the joy and pleasure of making love with Darian lead to the greatest sorrow she would ever know? And had she somehow ensured the sorrow when she’d interfered with events to obtain the joy the vision promised?

  And none of this mattered at the moment. Nicole had never appeared in one of her visions, so Emma couldn’t knowingly change the course of the girl’s life because of them. Observations and decisions would be made based on facts and feelings, not an image in a bowl of water.

  The door opened and Maura entered the cham
ber much earlier than Emma had expected to see her. She shut the door and leaned against it, obviously disturbed.

  Something was dreadfully wrong.

  “Maura?”

  Maura took a deep breath before saying, “I could not help but overhear the mercenaries talk when I passed by their table. They spoke of you.”

  Emma felt an ill wind brush against her face. “One would think they would have better things to do than gossip.”

  Maura raised her chin. “Is it true your father and brother were traitors to the crown?”

  Emma inwardly sighed. She’d been confronted before on the subject, and as at court she refused to beg pardon or excuse her family’s stance in the war between Empress Maud and King Stephen.

  “My father and brother fought for a cause they strongly believed in. Both considered Empress Maud the rightful successor to the crown. If you deem that traitorous, so be it.”

  Maura’s countenance turned stormy. “Here at Hadone we are loyal to the earl of Kent, and so to King Stephen. How can you expect us to shelter a traitor? Why did you not hie yourself off to Bristol, where you belong?”

  Emma’s defenses heightened to counter the attack. “Believe me, given the chance, I might have gone to Robert of Gloucester’s stronghold and placed myself in the empress’s service. Becoming a ward of the king and going to his court was not by my choice. Coming here was not my decision, but one made by Earl William and obeyed by Darian. If you wish to argue that decision, pray argue with the one who made it.”

  Maura looked around the bedchamber. Her bedchamber, which she’d so graciously shared. “You may continue to use the chamber for the remainder of your visit. I will sleep elsewhere.”

  Maura spun around and left the room, leaving Emma with an aching heart, having believed she and Maura were becoming friends.

  Perhaps she should have softened her words. Maybe she should have tried to convince Maura that the war between the empress and king shouldn’t affect their budding friendship.

  And maybe Maura would have rejected any plea for understanding and left the room anyway. The steward’s daughter hadn’t been the first and likely wouldn’t be the last to blame Emma for her father’s actions and subsequent downfall.

  A journey to Bledloe Abbey sounded better than before, for her own sake, as well as Nicole’s.

  Chapter Nine

  William of Ypres, earl of Kent, commanded several hundred men, all of whom considered life as a mercenary a fine way to earn a decent wage.

  Darian served William for other reasons, as did Marc, Armand, and Thomas. They were among the dozen men who did the earl’s bidding out of loyalty as much as for their pay. All were Flemish and indebted to William for life or limb or sustenance. Until two days ago, Darian would have wagered a considerable sum that each of them would willingly lay down his life for the earl’s— and for each other.

  Now Darian wasn’t sure which men in the band he could trust at his back and which not.

  William entrusted this choice group with the command of troops in battle and with the secret of his failing eyesight. To suspect one of the band of stealing his dagger felt strange and impossible, but Darian could think of no other way the dagger could end up near de Salis’s dead body, and then in Bishop Henry’s hands.

  That one of the band could have killed de Salis with the intention of placing the blame on Darian made his stomach coil. Could the murderer be one of the three men with whom he now shared ale?

  He dearly hoped not.

  “William travels with a small guard,” Darian commented. “I am surprised Julian and Edgar do not accompany you.”

  “They command the troops who guard the king on his way back to Wallingford,” Marc explained. “If all went as planned, they left this morn. A blessing, certes. The bands were becoming restless. Had the king not moved soon, we feared trouble.”

  Grunts of agreement sounded around the table. No fighting meant no pay, no loot, and too much time for restless men to create mischief.

  Armand smiled. “If we leave on the morn, we should overtake the troops long before they reach Wallingford. I swan, sitting on siege is a dull business. A pity the king allows no looting of the countryside. The men all itch to take the castle, and a fine day of justice and recompense that will be.”

  Wallingford, the stronghold of Brian fitz Count, a staunch supporter of Empress Maud, had been under siege for months. And if Darian remembered court gossip aright, Emma de Leon’s father and brother had lost their lives outside that castle’s walls.

  A pang of sympathy for the woman wasn’t surprising. He knew how much losing loved ones hurt.

  “Any progress at Wallingford?” Darian asked.

  Thomas, rotund, gray-haired and grizzled, shook his head. “Neither side has moved so much as a gnat’s breath. Wallingford is so well supplied they can last out a year or more. The walls are too high and strong to scale or bring down. All the king’s forces have managed to do is surround the place and cut off communication with Maud and Earl Robert.” Thomas wagged a finger. “Were the king to ask me, I would advise him to give up this futile siege and march on Bristol.”

  Marc snickered. “Bristol is twice as strongly fortified as Wallingford. Besides, were the king to take Bristol, then the war would end and we would all be out of work.”

  Thomas shrugged. “Not such a bad thing. I would not mind settling into a cottage somewhere, perhaps here in Kent, with a plump wife to share my bed and cook my meals.”

  Darian inwardly shivered at the thought. While the others teased Thomas about going soft, Darian saw the earl come down the stairway. William came straight toward the table and took a seat on the bench next to Armand. The teasing stopped when the earl cleared his throat.

  “Have you told Darian about Philip and Perrin?” he asked.

  “We thought it best you explain, my lord,” Marc answered.

  Darian braced for William’s bad news.

  The earl crossed his arms on the table. “Not only is Bishop Henry vexed with you, but Philip took umbrage at your suspicion that one of the mercenaries stole your dagger. He decided someone must make inquiry into how an outsider could breach the barracks. He declares it possible, but not probable.”

  Darian considered that good news. “Possible” meant that someone other than one of the mercenaries could have stolen his dagger. “Why not probable?”

  “Because each time Philip tried to sneak in while others were sleeping, at least one and betimes all the men awoke. Most everyone’s senses are too finely honed to allow intrusion.”

  Either that or the mercenaries’ alertness had heightened after learning the barracks had been visited by someone who shouldn’t be there.

  The earl continued, “I do not dismiss the possibility that one of the band might have stolen your dagger. However, I refuse to accuse anyone of a misdeed without proof.” William leaned forward. “Where were you that night?”

  Darian didn’t have to ask which night, but he hesitated to answer, unsure of whom to trust, despite William’s disinclination to believe any of the mercenaries guilty. One of the men sitting around the table could be his enemy. And the longer he remained silent, more of them realized mistrust held his tongue.

  William waved a dismissive hand. “All of these men, and Philip, know what happened during the audience with the king and that you did not spend the night with Lady Emma. So who did you spend the night with?”

  He wished he’d spent the night in one of Southwark’s many brothels. At least he would have been doing something pleasurable.

  “I was in Southwark. Hubert and Gib sent a message they had information for me, so I met them. They told me about rumors of the earl of Chester’s wish to invade Wales—nothing new. By the time we were done, London Bridge was closed and I had to await the morn to get back into the city. So I bought them a few more mugs of ale to pass the time.”

  “Why did you not say so to Bishop Henry?”

  “Henry demanded trustworthy witnesses. Can
you imagine those two passing the bishop’s test? Most likely, Henry would have hanged both of them right beside me.”

  William rubbed his chin. “Likely. Still, Philip guessed rightly at your whereabouts and has been making quiet inquiries among our many informants around London. Perhaps he will succeed in learning who truly killed de Salis.”

  Philip’s involvement bothered Darian. “I should be the one making inquiries, not Philip. He puts himself in danger on my account and I prefer he did not.”

  Also, if Philip were involved in de Salis’s death, he might not be working too hard on Darian’s behalf.

  William shrugged. “I do not worry over Philip’s safety. He has proven time and again he can take care of himself.”

  “Still, I would prefer to hunt this murderer myself.” William shook his head. “Best you remain here. If you go into Southwark in particular, Bishop Henry will learn of it. ’Twould be senseless to risk being captured and chained in the deepest cell of White Tower.”

  Darian nearly cringed at the thought of those dark, dank, rat-infested cells, but ire proved a strong deterrent against any such weakness. “I also can take care of myself.”

  “Perhaps, but Philip does not present so tempting a target. Leave it be, Darian. Allow Philip to find out what he can before we decide on further action.”

  Too desperate to escape Hadone for his own mind’s peace, Darian leaned forward. “Then at the least allow me to accompany you to Wallingford.”

  “Nay. Best you keep out of King Stephen’s reach, too. If you are not within his sight, he will have no reason to question his unusual decision in court. You are safe at Hadone. I already have one man missing, and should hate to have another.”

  Darian didn’t have to guess who. “Perrin.”

  “We assume he is again hiding from someone to whom he lost a wager. I do wish he would stay away from the cockfights.”

  Not Perrin. The man’s gambling debts were legendary. He owed every member of the band at least a few pence. ’Twas not the first time he’d run afoul of someone who insisted he pay up, nor the first time he’d disappeared.