Magic in His Kiss

by Shari Anton

  Now de Chesney shook his head. “The Welsh have known for years that King Stephen intended Lady Nicole for marriage to a Welsh prince, or at least a high-ranking noble. What matter if they know our sovereign now makes good on that intention, so long as they do not know the identity of the groom?”

  “Perhaps, but until I receive word from King Stephen to do otherwise, both the lady and bard remain in our custody.”

  Vexed with the stubborn earl, Nicole pondered over what to do next. Good manners and sound reasoning hadn’t moved him, but she doubted he would be budged by tears or a fit of temper, either, ploys she hadn’t used since childhood and refused to resort to now.

  With an inward sigh, Nicole conceded she had no choice but to await the king’s decision, which might not come for several days even if the messengers were swift. For herself, she could abide, being in no immediate danger. But Rhodri was locked in a tower cell, and she wanted him out and on his way back to Wales before anyone discovered that the reason for his visit hadn’t been as innocent as they were claiming.

  Too, this matter of her marriage wasn’t right. The king should have, at the least, informed her brother-by-marriage, Alberic. Camelen bordered Wales, so Alberic should have some say in the matter of any proposed alliance with a Welsh noble. Neither the earl nor the castellan would be willing to allow her to send a message to her family, but if she could help Rhodri escape he might be willing to carry a message to Camelen before returning to Glenvair.

  Her brother’s dagger weighing heavy in her boot, Nicole gathered her composure once more.

  “My lords, since I am at your mercy in this affair, I ask a boon. I am concerned for Rhodri’s welfare, as I am sure he is concerned for mine. Might I be allowed to see him, for a few moments only, to banish our common fears?”

  The men looked to each other, silently debating the wisdom of granting the request. De Chesney shrugged a shoulder, as if to say he saw no harm in granting the boon, but left the decision to the earl.

  De Vere rubbed at his chin for a moment before relenting. “I shall grant the boon, but do not linger. Walter, pray escort Lady Nicole to the Welshman’s cell, and ensure she returns in short order.”

  “As you say, my lord.” The captain of the castle guard waved a hand toward the door. “My lady?”

  Nicole curtsied to the earl once more, hoping her delight in his concession didn’t show overmuch. “My thanks,” she said before scurrying out of the solar.

  Short of stature, round of build, Sir Walter had always reminded Nicole of a bear, rather lumbering in his movements and lacking in social graces. All thought of judging him ineffective, however, had ended when she once observed him in the practice yard. As with a bear, one would not wish to come up against Sir Walter without warning or in the dark. And as captain of the guard, he expected his men to match his high standard of physical ability and proficiency with weapons.

  Walter said not a word as he arrowed across the bustling bailey on this brilliant afternoon, the air warm and redolent with the odor of the earth beneath her feet and of horses and hay from the stables. Nicole clutched her skirts, hiking them up to avoid soiling the hems of either shift or gown, but not high enough to expose the hilt of the dagger.

  Heads turned as they passed, and she noted the surprised looks on those few who recognized her in her new finery. Later, she might visit the gregarious blacksmith and the always amusing stable master.

  Too, she must arrange another meeting with the earl. Nicole consoled herself by remembering that Mother Abbess hadn’t always won battles during the first foray into the field. Sometimes several skirmishes were necessary before gaining an opponent’s surrender. She just had to think of the most effective argument to gain the most advantage.

  But for now Nicole shifted her focus to her destination, the northernmost guard tower along the high, thick curtain wall.

  While still in the bailey, Nicole heard the sound of a harp and, from the unholy noise, knew the harp’s master didn’t play it. Her ire pricked, she entered the circular tower, where a rotund guard sat on a stool, his filthy, untalented fingers abusing the silver strings of Rhodri’s precious harp.

  Furious that the guard dared to toy with the harp, she snatched the heavy instrument away from the stunned guard.

  “A toad could play better!” she snapped. “By whose leave do you possess it? Most certes you have not permission from the harp’s owner!”

  The guard’s eyes widened as he stood, his mouth agape. “Uh, my lady, uh—”

  Nicole cradled the harp with one arm, holding it firmly against her hip, and pointed to the floor. “Give me the sack.”

  The guard obeyed swiftly, and not until she’d covered the harp and pulled the sack’s strings securely shut did she notice neither the guard nor Walter had said a word while she completed the task.

  She glared at Walter. “Well?”

  Mercy, milady, mercy!

  Nicole’s breath caught at the sound of a male voice intruding into her thoughts. Gor, she had no time now to converse with a spirit but couldn’t ignore the man’s wrenching plea for mercy.

  Who are you?

  Thomas Thatcher, milady. I beg your aid!

  Sir Walter waved at the stairway that hugged the tower’s wall. “Lady Nicole is allowed a short visit with the prisoner. Unlock the door.”

  The guard’s eyes narrowed. “The earl said not to let anyone in there but him or Lord de Chesney.”

  “The earl will be pleased to know you remembered your orders. He will also be very displeased if you do not allow Lady Nicole entry. Good God, man, would I give you an order you could not obey?”

  “Humph. Suppose not, Captain. This way, then.”

  Her attention divided, Nicole knew she must free Rhodri from the tower before all else.

  Hear me, Thomas Thatcher, she ordered the spirit. I will aid you if I am able, but you must give me a few moments to complete my errand.

  The spirit sighed mournfully. I have waited more than a man’s natural lifetime for one with the gift of hearing to come my way. I can wait a few moments more if I have your oath not to forsake me.

  I will not forsake you.

  With the oath given, Nicole nervously followed the guard up the stairway, Walter a few steps behind her. They stopped on the small landing of the tower’s middle floor—on the next floor up, she knew, the stairway opened out onto the wall walk where the guards patrolled the curtain wall.

  From around his neck the guard removed a necklace of thick string, from which dangled a large iron key. As he unlocked the windowless oak door, Nicole hugged the harp, fearing the condition in which she might find its master.

  Chapter Five

  The cell was half the size of Nicole’s bedchamber, furnished with only a thin pallet that would do little to cushion a body from the hard floor. Dim sunlight from the defensive arrow slit didn’t ease the dreariness of the cell, and the stench of a piss bucket nearly gagged her.

  Nicole pushed past the guard. Rhodri uncurled his legs and stiffly rose from the pallet. His distrustful glance flickered between the guard and the captain behind her. She took the two steps necessary to put her within arm’s length of Rhodri.

  Not until she held out his harp did Rhodri look at her fully, beginning with the circlet on her head and moving down the length of her snug gown. His gaze left her as unwarrantedly, improperly tingling as had his inspection of her in the abbey’s receiving chamber.

  Except this time he didn’t smile or offer compliments on her appearance. Now that she actually looked like a princess, he seemed not to appreciate the change.

  She tried not to be miffed.

  “Ah, my lady,” Rhodri said on a hearty sigh. “My undying thanks for rescuing my harp. The indignity of being held captive ’twas naught when compared to the torture of hearing those sweet strings suffer violent ill-treatment.” He held up his hands, palms outward, refusing her offering. “I prefer you hold the harp safe for the nonce.”

  Understan
ding his fear that the harp would be taken from him again, Nicole once more hugged the harp to her bosom, wishing she could as easily remove Rhodri from this wretched place as she could the harp. Words of apology didn’t seem adequate to compensate for being the cause of his imprisonment. Sweet mercy, if she hadn’t asked him to play for Mother Abbess, he’d be on his way home to Glenvair instead of trapped in this wretched cell.

  Then Rhodri turned his head to again look past her at the guard and captain. Being closer to him now, she saw the ugly bruise on his jaw that hadn’t been there yesterday.

  Her heart fell at the evidence of his mistreatment. She placed gentle fingertips on the physical indignity he shouldn’t have suffered.

  “Oh, Rhodri,” she whispered.

  He grasped her shoulders, giving them a squeeze as if in reassurance. “’Tis nothing, Nicole. I have suffered worse. Make no more of it.”

  The last was an order he expected her to obey. Damn it, did he truly expect her to keep silent over the violence done to him for no good reason?

  The urge to reach into her boot and give him the dagger, if naught but for his own protection, nearly overcame her good sense. Too many eyes watched. She’d never get the dagger out of her boot secretly, and she might then, too, be imprisoned, if in more comfortable quarters.

  To gain Rhodri’s freedom she needed to maintain her own, be free to roam the castle grounds to find the least observable way out and devise a plan to liberate Rhodri.

  Hoping he could sense her determination, she whispered, “With Archangel Michael as my witness, I will secure your release.”

  His mouth quirked with humor at her reference to the angel Mother Abbess had mistaken him for. All well and good, except she also sensed Rhodri didn’t believe her. Well, let him doubt. She’d prove him wrong! She’d convince the earl to give Rhodri his freedom. She would!

  Nicole squared her shoulders, but not sharply enough to displace his hands.

  “Are you receiving the food sent to you?”

  His attention again fixed on the guard and captain, he said absently, “Enough of it.”

  “Time to leave, my lady,” Walter ordered, his voice gruffer than what she thought it needed to be.

  She loathed leaving Rhodri, but heaven help her, she didn’t want to linger in the cell any longer than she must, either.

  Nicole turned to leave. Rhodri grabbed hold of her around the waist and pulled her hard against him. His other hand clenched her throat, tilting up her chin, almost choking off her breath. Her panic absolute, she wouldn’t have moved if she could.

  “One cry from either of you,” Rhodri told the men in a low, menacing voice, “and I shall break the lady’s lovely neck.”

  Heart pounding, Nicole didn’t doubt that with the merest twist of his wrist she’d be dead.

  Damn him! She’d been distressed over his welfare, nearly wept over his mistreatment, completely forgetting he was not only a bard but a warrior, as well. A Welsh warrior so intent on escaping a Norman earl that he’d do whatever he must to save his ungrateful hide!

  “Release the lady, Welshman!” Walter ordered. “You have no hope of gaining your freedom if she is harmed.”

  “Whether she is harmed or nay is now your decision. The lady shall serve as both my shield and my writ of safe conduct out of the castle. Step aside, Captain.”

  Walter huffed and, much to Nicole’s dismay, drew his sword.

  Her back pressed tightly against Rhodri’s unyielding length, she could feel him chuckle, an evil sound.

  “Your weapon does you no good, sir, unless you intend to run the lady through, too. Might be rather difficult to explain to the earl why her blood stains your sword.”

  The captain spat on the floor. “I had heard you Welsh are a barbaric lot! To hide behind a woman is dishonorable.”

  Walter waved the sword. Rhodri tilted her chin higher, and her high-pitched, pleading gasp for mercy reverberated through the chamber.

  “Good sirs, pray make yourselves comfortable on the pallet before the lady can no longer breathe!” Rhodri commanded.

  Walter growled his displeasure, but her desperate plea had the desired effect. To Nicole’s relief, both Sir Walter and the guard sidled along the wall, obeying Rhodri’s order.

  Dear God in heaven, was Sir Walter truly allowing Rhodri to escape?

  And wasn’t Rhodri’s release precisely what she’d set out to accomplish this morn?

  Not like this, however, with his hands at her throat, threatening her life. Certes, she didn’t approve of his method of escape, of being used in such harsh fashion!

  Except… his scheme seemed to be working. And certes, she might not have arranged his escape, but she’d given him a weapon—herself—that he’d used to his advantage. Resourceful of him, she reluctantly admitted. Later, she would ensure Rhodri fully appreciated her cooperation in his escape, but not until they were safely away from the tower.

  Surely, if he managed to get beyond the castle grounds, then through the town and beyond the town’s walls—a daunting task—Rhodri would soon be on his way back to Wales.

  “Give the lady the key,” Rhodri told the guard.

  The guard looked to Walter, who grimaced as he nodded. “Do as he says.”

  Nicole gingerly reached out a hand, not wishing to test Rhodri’s grip on her throat. The guard looped the string over her fingers and stepped back.

  One slow step at a time, Rhodri guided them out the doorway and kicked the heavy door shut. He released her, and while she drew in a much-needed, ragged deep breath, he snatched the key from her hand and locked the guard and Walter in the cell.

  She was rubbing at her throat when Rhodri did the completely unexpected. With a huge smile and no forewarning whatsoever, he grasped her upper arms and kissed her thoroughly, banishing all thought from her head but the glory of his lips on hers, before just as suddenly and dismayingly releasing her.

  “Well done, Nicole! Now let us depart this place,” he said, still smiling. “’Twill not be long before they raise a cry.”

  Stunned, she could only stare at the man who’d in one moment threatened to break her neck and in the next kissed her in so sublime a manner her mouth felt ravished and her knees had gone wobbly.

  After a mental shake to clear the fog that seemed to have formed in her head, she asked, “Have you a plan?”

  “Nay. We are devising as we go.” He waved a hand at the stairs. “Swiftly, if you please.”

  “Not we, you. Hurry! Go!”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You wish to remain in Oxford?”

  “Nay, I wish to go back to the abbey.”

  “Surely you do not believe the earl will allow you to! Come, Nicole. You cannot be so naive.”

  She winced at the accusation, admitting Rhodri was likely correct about the earl. De Vere had already refused to allow her to return to the abbey. He’d be as steadfast if she asked to go home. Likely, after learning how Rhodri escaped, the earl wouldn’t allow her out of her bedchamber until the king arranged her marriage.

  The prospect of being shut away in the bedchamber for who knew how long churned her insides. Escaping Oxford with Rhodri suddenly seemed the least objectionable choice.

  Irritated beyond measure at this turn of events, Nicole descended the stairs as quickly as she could with the bulky harp in her arms, belatedly beginning to wonder at the wisdom of attempting to flee an efficiently guarded castle at midday. Surely they should wait until the cover of darkness before attempting an escape so daring. But because of Rhodri’s impulsive action, they’d now be forced to risk an escape with the garrison on alert.

  Upon reaching the lower floor, she stopped and shoved the harp at him, giving him no choice but to take it.

  “Are you angry with me?” he asked.

  She gave him credit for noticing. “For a time I was not sure whether or not you would break my neck.”

  He shrugged. “I know, but I also knew the moment you realized what I was about and lost your fear.”


  She had? “When?”

  “You leaned into me, so I need not hold you so tightly. I knew then you were willing to cooperate. Are you familiar with the castle grounds?”

  She didn’t remember willingly leaning into Rhodri. But she supposed she must have if Rhodri had taken the movement as a sign of her cooperation.

  “I have been in Oxford Castle often with Mother Abbess, when she came to confer with the prior of St. Frideswide, which we passed on the road coming into town, or with the abbess of Godstow Abbey, which is a few leagues north of Oxford. Mother Abbess was also friendly with Lady Julia, the earl’s niece. ’Tis one of Julia’s old gowns I wear.”

  Nicole crossed her arms over her middle, an effort to contain her nervousness. She’d babbled enough nonsense. Rhodri certainly didn’t give a fig about Mother Abbess’s friends or care whose gown Nicole wore.

  He snatched off her circlet and, along with the key to the cell, stuffed her precious possession into the harp’s sack, an attempt to make her less noticeable, she supposed.

  From the cell above came the sounds of fists pounding on the door and Sir Walter’s muffled shouts hailing his soldiers.

  Nicole reached into her boot and drew out the dagger. “I am sure you can use this in more efficient manner than I. You take the dagger and give me the harp so your hands are free.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow as they exchanged possessions.

  “My brother’s,” she answered his unspoken question—then remembered her promise to another dead man, Thomas Thatcher.

  The poor man must have died in the upstairs cell for his spirit to have lingered in this place. Despite the need for haste, she’d given the spirit her oath not to forsake him.

  “Lead on, my lady,” Rhodri ordered.

  “A moment.”

  Nicole closed her eyes and silently summoned a spirit, something she hadn’t done in many a year, not since she’d learned that most spirits remained tied to this earth for unconscionable reasons. Thomas, however, had seemed a reasonable sort.

  Thomas, why do you linger? Why do you not pass on?