Magic in His Kiss

by Shari Anton

  “My thanks, Lucy.” Determined not to wallow in grief, she glanced at the platter. “Have all broken fast already?”

  “Long ago, my lady. ’Tis after nooning. The earl said to allow you to sleep as long as you might, but I knew you would not want to sleep the whole day away, so I brought victuals and ale. Did I do wrong?”

  Sweet mercy, after nooning? But then, having been awake from sunrise to sunrise and far beyond, by the time she’d arrived at Oxford Castle late yester noon, she’d been hard pressed to keep her eyes open and her legs from collapsing.

  And she understood Lucy’s concern. The servant had taken liberties she truly ought not.

  “You did right to wake me, Lucy. The earl will not hear of your transgression from me.” She eased her legs toward the edge of the bed, wincing at her entire body’s stiffness. “I swan, I would be in less pain had I walked all those leagues from the abbey. The cart’s driver had no notion of how to avoid ruts. My bottom will be sore for a sennight!”

  Lucy gave a mew of sympathy. “Do you wish me to brew you a potion? Willow-bark tea, mayhap?”

  “Your offer is kindness itself. My thanks.”

  “The bread is from this morn’s baking, and the ale is the village brewer’s finest.” Lucy paused by the door, putting a hand on a gown of light blue that hung on one of the pegs. “This is one of Lady Julia’s castoffs. If it does not fit you aright, I shall send for the seamstress to make the needed changes.”

  Nicole saw her white shift on the same peg, partially hidden by the gown. On another peg hung her cloak.

  “Where is my habit?”

  “The earl ordered it sent to the laundress to clean before it is returned to Bledloe Abbey.”

  Nicole clutched the coverlet a bit tighter. “I should like the robe returned to me. Can you fetch it?”

  Lucy’s brow scrunched in confusion. “I can try, my lady, but beg pardon, why would you want it? The laundress is readying an entire chest full of Lady Julia’s garments for your use. Most should be in good order by this eve, and certes, Lady Julia would not disapprove of your use of them.”

  Julia de Vere, the earl’s niece and a dear friend of Nicole’s sister, Emma, now resided at the earl’s castle in Essex and wouldn’t begrudge Nicole the use of her old garments. Nor did Nicole oppose wearing castoffs. The earl’s presumption, however, proved most irritating.

  “I hope to convince the earl to allow me to return to Bledloe Abbey. I should rather do so in the habit in which I left.”

  Lucy tilted her head. “You wish to go back?”

  Her wishes aside, Nicole knew she must return.

  “The abbey is where the king expects me to reside. The earl should not have brought me here.”

  Nor should de Vere have forced Rhodri to come to Oxford!

  Sweet mercy, if the earl ever learned of Connor’s offer of refuge in Wales, Rhodri might not see Glenvair again in a very long time. If ever.

  Before she could ask after Rhodri, Lucy left, closing the door behind her, leaving Nicole both worried about Rhodri and resentful of the earl’s impudence.

  After Mother Abbess’s burial, the earl had made his shocking announcement about the king negotiating her marriage. Then he’d turned an unhearing ear to her protests, forcing her to leave Bledloe Abbey and suffer being bounced on the hard plank seat of the cart.

  Upon arriving in town, she’d struggled to shut out the cries of the spirits in St. Peter-in-the-East church’s graveyard. She’d heard the pleas of these spirits before and refused to aid them, because their ties to earth involved inflicting harm on a living person.

  The climb up the steep outer stairway of St. George’s Tower—the central keep of Oxford Castle—had wrung out the last drop of her vigor.

  The last thing of yester noon she remembered clearly was watching Rhodri being led away by the castle’s soldiers, suspecting she was more than partly to blame for the earl’s decision to take Rhodri captive.

  If she hadn’t turned to Rhodri for respite and solace during the burial, the earl might not have paid the harper much heed. She feared her moment of weakness had set the earl to wondering about the relationship between a king’s ward and a Welsh bard. Not liking what he saw, the earl had decided to further investigate.

  Nicole sighed, unable to summon uninhibited sorrow for turning to Rhodri. His touch had been all the invitation she’d required to seek succor. Sweet mercy, she’d felt so cosseted and sheltered within the circle of his arms, as if while within his protection nothing more could hurt her.

  Even now she could feel his strength, warmth, and compassion, and she couldn’t allow him to suffer any longer than necessary for her ill-timed vulnerability.

  Praying the earl treated Rhodri with respect for his profession, but fearing he didn’t, Nicole cast aside the coverlet and pushed herself off the bed.

  She quickly used the chamber pot and, from the pitcher on the side table, poured tepid water into the washbasin. The splash of water against her face banished the last traces of sleep. The quarter round of brown bread was indeed freshly baked. The yellow cheese proved mellow and the ale robust.

  The gown, the blue of a clear summer sky, was truly lovely, the weave finer than Nicole had worn in many a year. The wide sleeves and generously cut neckline allowed enough of her shift to show to give a striking, fashionable contrast. The hem brushed the tops of her boots.

  Vanity might be a sin, but sweet mercy, she couldn’t help wishing for a polished silver platter in which to see how she looked.

  She was beginning to tighten the gown’s side laces when Lucy returned with a mug of steaming tea.

  Lucy’s smile went wide. “Heaven have mercy! Will you look at what you were hiding under that habit! The knights will stumble over each other for the favor of your company. Allow me, my lady.”

  Nicole smiled at the insolent servant’s flattery, a confirmation of how well the gown suited her, though she doubted any of the knights would fall at her feet. She took sips of tea and transferred the mug from one hand to the other while Lucy pulled the gown’s laces snug.

  “Did you speak to the laundress?”

  “The habit is cleaned, but you will not wrench it from Tilda’s hands without the earl’s consent. Certes, my lady, you have no need of the habit here, and if you do return to the abbey, it will be waiting there for you.”

  True, but the habit was one more thing that had been taken from her in the short space of two days, and she found the earl’s lack of consideration for both her person and belongings irksome.

  Still, Nicole admitted she rather liked the way the blue gown hugged the curves of her body. Though she didn’t possess the fullness of Lucy’s bosom or the blatant outward thrust of hip, Nicole believed she wouldn’t be found wanting.

  Lucy eyed her critically. “Lady Julia was wont to wear a gold chain around her waist with this one. I do not suppose you have one in that satchel of yours.”

  She’d had no need for any type of belt in the abbey. Indeed, Nicole possessed so few personal items they all fitted in a small satchel with room to spare.

  “Alas, no gold chain, but I do have my gold circlet.”

  Lucy fetched the satchel and opened it. “Blessed saints, my lady! What would you be doing with a dagger!”

  Nicole gingerly eased onto the stool that stood next to the table. She put down the mug and began to undo her waist-length braid, remembering her childhood banishment from home while she’d still deeply mourned her brother. She’d pilfered one of William’s old daggers, wanting to take something of his with her to keep his memory alive.

  Little had she known that she wouldn’t require a reminder, that once every year William’s revenge-needful spirit would spoil her family’s Easter visit to the abbey.

  Damn! She’d inadvertently obeyed William’s latest command when she’d left Bledloe Abbey. One more reason to return as soon as she was able.

  “’Tis merely a keepsake, Lucy. Find my ivory comb, too, if you please, as well as m
y circlet.”

  “As you say, my lady. Oh, this be lovely!” The maidservant set the emerald-studded gold circlet on the table. “I remember Lady Emma’s circlet. Hers is adorned with topaz, is it not?”

  As Gwendolyn’s circlet was adorned with sapphires. The circlets were gifts from their father, who’d fondly dubbed his daughters his jewels. Then Father had been killed in battle, along with William, and the girls had been left with little to call their own but their circlets.

  In answer, Nicole merely nodded and closed her eyes. While Lucy attacked the snarls with the ivory comb, Nicole pondered her next move. Somehow, she must convince the earl to allow both her and Rhodri to quit Oxford.

  “Is the earl in the hall?”

  “Last I saw, he were in the solar. An odd thing, too. Lord de Chesney invited the earl to fly the falcons, which the earl dearly enjoys, but the earl said he was waiting on some messenger and wished to be in the castle when he arrived. Must be important, that message.”

  William de Chesney knew his duty as a royal castellan and kept a mews full of excellent hawks and falcons for visiting royalty and nobility to enjoy. The awaited message must be important, indeed, for the earl to foreswear a chance to hunt.

  Nicole suppressed a shiver, then chided her foolishness. She’d been here less than a day. Surely the message the earl expected didn’t concern her and an impending marriage.

  “Do you know the whereabouts of Rhodri ap Dafydd?”

  Lucy sighed. “Is it true this Welshman is a bard?”

  Apparently, castle gossip spread as efficiently as ever, which Nicole hoped would work in her favor. “Aye.”

  “A damn shame, then, that the earl ordered him locked up in the north guard tower. ’Twould be a fine thing to listen to a harp at supper.”

  Nicole’s heart sank at the news she’d expected to hear but had hoped for better. Locked in a tower—not good.

  “I need to see Rhodri. Can you take me to him?”

  Lucy tied a strip of leather to the end of Nicole’s braid. “The guards are under orders to allow no one to see him but his lordship. If you can get the earl’s consent, then I can show you where the bard is being held.”

  Nicole voiced her greatest fear. “Is he being treated well?”

  “Cook says his platters come back to the kitchen empty.”

  Which didn’t mean Rhodri ate the food sent to him. Soldiers were notorious for taunting captives. Eating Rhodri’s food might be the least of the soldiers’ abuse. A Welsh captive in Norman hands might suffer far more than most prisoners.

  Nicole drank down the remains of the willow-bark tea, then stood to pluck stray hairs from her gown.

  “Am I presentable enough for an audience with the earl?”

  Lucy set the circlet in place. “You have the look of royalty about you, my lady. I do wish we had a gold belt to hang on your hips. A woman needs all the advantages she can muster when dealing with a man, be he field laborer or earl. Shall I inform the earl you wish to speak with him?”

  “My thanks, Lucy.”

  The maidservant sped out the door.

  Needing to keep her hands busy for the few moments she must wait before following, Nicole put her comb back in the satchel and pulled out the dagger she truly should have sent back to Camelen years ago.

  The dagger was a soldier’s unadorned weapon, solid and sharp, beautiful and deadly.

  Nicole bit her bottom lip when the thought occurred to her that if she couldn’t convince the earl to release Rhodri, then Rhodri might be able to make good use of the dagger to effect his own escape. She hesitated only briefly before slipping the dagger into her boot, hoping she need not give it over.

  She knew escape from Oxford Castle was possible. Everyone had heard the tale of how, in the early years of the war, Empress Maud and four of her knights had tossed a rope made of bed linens out a window and climbed down to escape King Stephen, who’d besieged the castle. Of course, that had been during winter when the river Thames, which surrounded the castle, had been frozen.

  Certes, she wouldn’t needs climb down a rope of bed linens or swim the Thames. Surely the earl could be made to see reason and allow both her and Rhodri to leave.

  She’d never begged favor of so high a ranking noble before but had watched Mother Abbess bargain with earls and abbots, bishops and barons, with a mix of flattery and sound reason.

  Praying she would find the right words to set her and Rhodri free, Nicole scurried down the torch-lit passageway and the tightly winding stairs to the solar.

  Both the earl and the castellan were seated at a heavily carved oak table, a large sheet of vellum spread out before them. Two knights—Sir Etienne, one of the earl’s men, and Sir Walter, the captain of Oxford’s household guard—stood behind their respective lords. All of the men wore somber expressions, as though they’d received ill tidings.

  Had the messenger the earl awaited already come, then? Likely not, or Lucy would have said somewhat of the messenger’s arrival.

  Nicole squared her shoulders and crossed the room, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. The earl saw her first, and once he took notice, so did the others. Their bold stares made her insides squirm until she ventured close enough to recognize signs of admiration.

  Her rank, proclaimed by the circlet, might account for some of their regard, but Nicole suspected the snugness of her gown, leaving no female curve hidden, earned her the greater attention.

  The earl rose from his chair, smiling. “Lady Nicole, ’tis pleased I am to see you rested and in full bloom.”

  Ignoring the knights for the nonce, Nicole gracefully curtsied low to the highest-ranking men in the chamber.

  “Greetings, Lord de Vere, Lord de Chesney.” Rising, she smiled at the castellan of Oxford Castle, her host. “As always, your hospitality is above reproach, my lord. Pray give my compliments to your housekeeper and cook for providing excellent bed and board, particularly when they are forced to accommodate a guest without warning.”

  The earl’s smile faltered, but the castellan’s widened. Apparently he understood and approved of her attempt to discomfit the earl. Had she found an ally in de Chesney? Would he aid her cause?

  “You must know the servants hold you in affection, Lady Nicole, so they do not mind providing for you for as long as you may be with us.”

  “’Tis my hope their service shall not be required long.” A slight shift of stance faced her square before Aubrey de Vere. “My lord, while I appreciate your kindness in the lending of Lady Julia’s garments, I must protest the necessity. Truly, my habit, though old and unfashionable for so esteemed a court, would have done me fine.”

  The earl crossed his arms. “You are the first woman I have heard protest the gift of a fashionable gown, and certes, the time has come for you to put aside the habit.”

  “You may be right, my lord,” she conceded, mindful of not angering the earl. Calmly presented reason would carry the day, as it had for Mother Abbess. “However, I am uneasy over leaving Bledloe Abbey without the king’s consent. ’Tis where he has commanded I reside, and I have yet to discern an urgent reason for my displacement. Though I am not averse to residing in Lord de Chesney’s care, I fear we may all suffer the king’s displeasure over my removal from the abbey.”

  De Vere sank back down in his chair. “You are kindness itself to concern yourself over my good standing with the king, but I believe he will understand my unease over leaving you in the care of the nuns, unprotected. I would be remiss in my duty to our sovereign if I did not take action to assure your safety.”

  “Safe from what threat, my lord?”

  “Your Welsh uncle, my lady. And his bard.”

  The bard whom de Vere had locked up in a guard tower. Who was denied his freedom because she’d unwisely wished time to consider her uncle’s offer of refuge in Wales, even though she’d known she couldn’t possibly accept.

  “My Lord de Vere, I do not make light of your concern. However, you must consider t
hat Rhodri, truly, is merely a messenger from my uncle Connor. Indeed, had I not asked Rhodri to play his harp for Mother Abbess, and had not Sister Claire requested he also do so at the burial, Rhodri would have come and gone the previous day without incident. I beg you not to hold him at fault for consenting to my whim.”

  “Lady Nicole tells the same tale as ap Dafydd,” de Chesney said, and Nicole was so grateful for the castellan’s support she could have hugged him. “I still believe we should have left Lady Nicole to the nuns and allowed the bard to go his way.”

  Apparently the earl and castellan had argued over this earlier, given the tension she now sensed between the two men who usually got on well together.

  The earl shook his head. “I cannot ignore the disturbing presence of a Welshman within the walls of the abbey, no matter his intent. Faith, the king’s negotiations for Lady Nicole’s marriage are in a delicate state. She should not be allowed within ten leagues of any of her kin, most especially the Welsh.”

  Not any of her kin? Not even her sisters? Sweet mercy, whom was the king planning to marry her off to that necessitated such secrecy? Nicole bit her bottom lip to halt the question de Vere had said yesterday he wasn’t at liberty to answer, determined to first gain the concessions of foremost importance—her return to the abbey and Rhodri’s release.

  Before she could utter another plea for mercy, de Chesney leaned toward the earl.

  “No harm was done,” he said. “Making prisoners of them both makes no sense.”

  The earl sneered. “Does it not? I cannot be assured the encounter was, as you say, innocent. But even if it was, the situation has changed. I dare not allow Lady Nicole to return to a place where I can no longer feel certain she is safe. As for the bard, if I allow him his freedom, he will but return to Wales and inform Connor ap Maelgwn of the king’s intentions, who will in turn inform the prince of Powys. That man will do his utmost to cause mischief with the negotiations, and that is a risk I dare not take.”