Magic in His Kiss

by Shari Anton

  “You do not wish to see your sisters first?”

  With all her heart.

  “I wish to deal with William before I see Alberic.”

  Rhodri rose and held out his hand. Time to go. She accepted his assistance without hesitation, then took the step into his embrace.

  “’Twill be all right, Nicole, no matter what happens.”

  He’d been trying to soothe her worries ever since leaving Mathrafal. To his credit, he’d been right about so much. They’d escaped with ease and encountered no Welsh or English patrols. They’d ridden hard during the daylight and found food and shelter at night, and she now knew what it felt like to make love in a bed of hay.

  She held him tighter, because beyond dealing with William loomed a void. She’d tried to peer into it, to see the future beyond, but no vision of her future with Rhodri formed.

  They’d married, pledged to each other, sealed their bargain with sweet kisses and rapturous lovemaking. Rhodri would keep his vows, of that Nicole had no doubt. ’Twas his regret of those vows she feared, especially if his music didn’t provide her with the means to send William to the afterlife.

  She’d not realized until yesterday Rhodri’s stake in their success in dealing with her brother. He’d found true magic in his harp’s music, and William would be the test of the magic’s strength.

  If their attempt failed, then Rhodri might begin to wonder if he’d made a mistake by giving up his dreams and then resent being bound to her.

  She took heart that his music had so eased the spirits at Glenvair they’d been agreeable to finding their peace. But William’s spirit was older, his desire for revenge deep and venomous, and he’d resisted her every effort. He might not so easily succumb.

  This area of Shropshire had been her childhood home, and as they rode over the gentle hills and through thick woodlands, Nicole realized how much she’d missed it. So for a while, she concentrated on appreciating the warm sunshine and the autumn-touched trees.

  Too soon, and not soon enough, Camelen’s walls came into view. The sight of her home took her breath away and filled her eyes with tears.

  Stone walls, thick and gray, promised security to all who resided within and protection to all who resided within its shadow. Odd, she’d chafed at the notion of spending her days within the confines of stone walls—all but these. At Camelen she could blissfully reside, even if it wasn’t truly her home anymore, but Alberic and Gwendolyn’s.

  Rhodri ignored the drawbridge and headed for the village, specifically for the church with its square Norman bell tower. The last time she’d been inside was to bury her father and brother.

  “Has William said aught to you as yet?”

  “Not as yet.” Which surprised her a bit. Surely William sensed her presence.

  “We will leave the horse by the well. I want to have my harp at the ready the moment you open the church door.”

  As if his harp were a sword he would wield against an attack. Nicole thought the comparison an apt one.

  The village had changed a bit since she’d left. Nearby the church stood newer-looking cottages, the older ones having been burned during an attack on Camelen by a Welshman who’d sought to take Gwendolyn away from Alberic and not succeeded.

  Naturally, the children’s curiosity about the village’s visitors stopped their play, especially when, after Rhodri tied the horse to the well, he pulled a harp from the sack tied behind the saddle.

  Nicole didn’t recognize any of the little ones, having been gone from Camelen before most of them were born. A few of their parents, who’d come out to see why the children had gone so silent, smiled at her when she nodded at them.

  She would love to greet each familiar person, but Rhodri waited, harp in hand. Her homecoming must wait, the joy or pain of the homecoming dependent on a brother who’d been dead for eight years.

  Nicole scurried up the stairs, grasped the iron ring, and paused for only a moment before she opened the huge oak door.

  The church was dark, musty, and silent but for the strains of silver strings.

  You came! At last, you came!

  William’s excited shouts reverberated through her and, for a heartbeat, she relished the joy she hadn’t heard in her brother’s voice in a very, very long time. Not since he’d lived. Not since the day he’d picked her up and swung her around, promising to bring her a pretty gift when he returned from the war.

  Unfortunately, William’s joy wouldn’t linger, not when he discovered why she’d come.

  Nicole’s footsteps echoed ominously as she strode through the empty church toward the altar, a block of white marble covered with an altar cloth, the white linen likely embroidered by Emma. At the foot of the altar were three large slabs fashioned of bronze. Her father lay beneath the center slab, her mother and brother on either side of him.

  She swallowed the grief that threatened to divert her from her purpose.

  I am here, William.

  Who is with you?

  Nicole’s heart beat a little faster. Rhodri stood beside her, frowning down at the bronze slabs, playing softly.

  William must hear the harp, and he was speaking rationally, if a bit irritated that Nicole hadn’t come alone.

  Rhodri ap Dafydd. Do you remember him from Wales? He is a bard now.

  He interfered with us at the inn. Send him away!

  Rhodri is my husband. He has a right—

  Husband! You are wed to that whoreson?

  The insult to Rhodri stung. Nicole crossed her arms. You are dead, William. You have no say in whom I marry.

  I am your brother. Certes I have a say. No man has any greater right than I! Send him away!

  William’s intense resentment that she’d married Rhodri, who could interfere with his hold on her, sluiced through Nicole—and the dagger in her boot warmed against her ankle.

  Startled, she reached down to pull out the weapon she’d taken from Camelen as a reminder of her brother, feeling the veriest fool for not having realized before now that he’d somehow used the dagger to remain in contact with her.

  She supposed her lack of awareness might be somewhat forgiven. For eight years it had lain in the bottom of her box of possessions, under her cot. She hadn’t pulled it out until Aubrey de Vere had ordered her to gather her things to make ready for the journey to Oxford.

  Ah, the dagger. You must kill Alberic, Nicole. By the love you bear me, you must avenge my death!

  She now knew what she must do with the dagger to be free of William.

  I will not kill Alberic. I will not be the instrument of your revenge. She bent down and placed the dagger on his grave. I vow, William, if you do not heed me this time, I will have the dagger buried with you, and you will spend the rest of eternity alone.

  Naaayyy! You cannot desert me!

  Nicole steeled her heart against his panic.

  You chose your destiny when you chose to follow Father into battle. You died attempting to avenge his death—and lost. ’Tis time you choose again. You must either pass on to the afterlife, or remain here with no hope of being set free. Look to the light, William. Mother is there. Father is there. ’Struth, he likely wonders why you have not followed him.

  Nicole knelt and put her hand on the slab beneath which William lay but did not rest.

  I beg of thee, William, in the name of the love I bear you and you bear me, hear and heed me well. Find your peace. Your time on this earthly realm is over.

  Father, he said softly.

  Nicole nearly shouted for joy at this first sign that he was considering moving on.

  Follow the light. Go to Father. He waits for you.

  The light is so bright, it hurts my eyes.

  The light will not harm you. Beyond is peace. Beyond is Father. Go to him.

  She wanted to scream at the silence of his indecision, to somehow give him a push toward the light and hope he kept going.

  Then he said, I love you, Nicole, and he was gone.

  Raw grief clenche
d her heart and bowed her head. Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed. She’d expected to feel relief, perchance joy. Instead, the sorrow pierced so deep, ’twas nigh on as wrenching as losing William the first time.

  On a sob, she told Rhodri, “William is… gone.”

  Rhodri knelt down and set his harp aside. “Ah, my love.”

  She melted into his embrace and sobbed until her throat was raw and eyes were swelling shut. Rhodri held her tight, one hand rubbing her back, while she soaked through the shoulder of his tunic. Finally her tears ceased, and she breathed without a hitch to each inhale.

  “There truly is magic in your harp. I could hear him, feel his emotions, but he did not overwhelm me.”

  “Twice I almost grabbed you to pull you out of the church. I could see how much you were hurting.” He kissed her forehead. “The dagger. ’Twas through the dagger he could reach you, was it not?”

  “His jealousy warmed the dagger against my ankle. To think, had I not had it in my boot, I might never have made the connection. Did you suspect?”

  “Not until you put the dagger on his grave,” he admitted. “Then it made sense. What gave him cause for jealousy?”

  “You. William did not like that you had the power to affect my relationship with him. I believe he somehow knew that my love for you was stronger than my love for him and realized this time I would abandon him if he did not give over.”

  Rhodri went still, and Nicole realized she’d completely, perhaps unwisely, handed her heart into his keeping.

  Except she wasn’t one bit sorry or worried. If ever there were a man she could trust with her heart, body, and soul, that man was her husband, Rhodri ap Dafydd.

  He backed away slightly and, with a finger under her chin, raised her gaze to peer into his. What she saw in his deep-set brown eyes thrilled her to her core.

  “I love you, Nicole. I dared not hope for more than your affection. Can you truly love me?”

  Damn, she wanted to cry again, this time from happiness.

  “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. We are magic, you and I.”

  Then he kissed her, and Nicole forgot to worry about their future. Whatever the days ahead might bring, she would be with Rhodri, and all would be well. Content to remain kneeling on the church floor; wrapped in his arms for as long as he wished; Nicole’s gaze landed on Rhodri’s harp.

  “I recognized the music you played. ’Twas the song you composed on our journey to Wales. Have you written the words as yet?”

  “I had not planned to play it, but when we walked into the church, the music seemed right somehow. Perhaps this melody needs no words.”

  A special song for a singular event.

  Her knees were beginning to protest a bit before he gave her a last squeeze and said, “We should go to the castle. By now your sisters will have heard of our arrival.”

  Likely. One of the villagers would have run to the castle gate to announce Nicole’s return to Camelen. And she so much wanted to see her sisters, to share her happiness.

  And the first thing she intended to do was give Alberic a long, joyous hug.

  Nicole slipped the dagger back into her boot, the weapon no longer a threat to her peace.

  Fare thee well, William.

  She received no answer, and that was right and good.

  Her hand in Rhodri’s, Nicole stepped out of the dark church into the sunlight.

  A crowd had gathered in the village green. Villagers and castle folk. Rhys the bard and Father Paul.

  Not far from the bottom of the stairs stood Gwendolyn and Alberic, Emma and Darian and, heaven have mercy, Aubrey de Vere, earl of Oxford.

  With a triumphant look on his face, the earl thrust out an arm and pointed upward.

  “Seize them!”

  Rhodri could only stare at the man he’d never expected to see again.

  What the devil was de Vere doing at Camelen?

  Nicole leaned into his side. “There is a door in the sacristy. We can escape out the back.”

  Four men garbed in the earl’s livery were coming toward him.

  “Nay, my love. This is where we make our stand.” He shoved the harp into Nicole’s arms, stepped in front of her, and drew his sword.

  “Call them back, de Vere!” he ordered in the same commanding tone the earl had used. “The church steps are no place for bloodshed. Nor do you wish a stray blade to nick the lady Nicole.”

  For two heartbeats, the earl held his peace, then ordered his men to halt. With an inward sigh of relief, Rhodri lowered the tip of his sword—a concession, but not surrender.

  “You are correct, Welshman. The lady must not be harmed. I am glad you have decided to submit peacefully.”

  Like hell he had.

  “My lord de Vere, you had no right to take us into your custody at Bledloe Abbey. As I see it, you have no right to do so now.”

  “No right?” the earl blustered. “I sought to keep safe the king’s ward, and you unlawfully kidnapped the lady while in my charge!”

  From behind Rhodri, Nicole huffed. She peeked around him but stayed behind him. Without his issuing an order. A nice change.

  “Rhodri is not guilty of the charge,” she informed the earl. “He did not force me to leave Oxford. In truth, I aided his escape.”

  De Vere’s smile for Nicole was patronizing. “There are witnesses to your distress that day, my dear. You need no longer suffer the indignity of the Welshman’s company.”

  The man’s tone set Nicole to bristling.

  “The witnesses saw and heard what we wished them to! Truth to tell, my lord, I am rather accustomed to and enjoy the Welshman’s company!”

  Her answer didn’t sit well with de Vere. He clenched his fists.

  “I understand you have been through a difficult time, my lady, and so must suffer a misjudgment of good sense. Nonetheless, you are the king’s ward and therefore subject to his will. I shall inform him you have been found and leave your fate to his verdict and command.”

  Now Rhodri smiled. “When you inform the king of Nicole’s whereabouts, be certain to include news of her marriage in your message.”

  Rhodri heard murmurs in the crowd but didn’t allow them to divert him.

  The earl’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Marriage to whom?”

  This wasn’t the way Rhodri had envisioned informing Nicole’s family of their marriage, but that didn’t stop him from answering, “To me.”

  The crowd didn’t know if they should be happy or not. One thing was certain, Nicole’s family didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Truth to tell, a wide grin spread across Darian’s face, and he nudged Alberic with an elbow as if to say “There, did I not tell you?”

  The disgruntled earl turned to Alberic.

  “We shall have the marriage annulled immediately. I am sure Theobald of Canterbury will oblige us. He is still at Nottingham, so is easily reached.”

  Alberic shrugged a dismissive shoulder.

  “If Nicole has pledged to Rhodri, and so is truly wedded and bedded—” Alberic turned to peer up at Rhodri. “Nicole is truly wedded and bedded, is she not?”

  Nicole softly gasped at the outrageous question.

  Rhodri smiled at this unusual Marcher lord he was coming to like very much. “Wedded and bedded in good fashion, my lord.”

  His audacious answer solicited a censorious growl from his wife—signaling the need for an apology later—and a nod of approval from Alberic, who continued.

  “Then I consider Rhodri and Nicole husband and wife, and they will be treated as a wedded couple at Camelen. Besides, from what you told me of the negotiations in Nottingham, the war is over and King Stephen no longer needs Nicole to make an alliance with a Welsh noble. Since her marriage is no longer of political import, I say we leave the matter be.”

  Said with a velvet sheath over a steel blade. The earl could have no doubt that if he chose to press for Rhodri’s arrest, he would find no ally in Alberic of Camelen.

  Rhodri i
tched to ask what had transpired at Nottingham. If the war was truly over, then King Stephen and Duke Henry must have come to terms, and Henry Plantagenet would be the next man to sit on the English throne.

  Bad news for Wales. But as Connor had said several weeks ago, Duke Henry would needs wait for King Stephen to die before he could take the crown. Perhaps there was time yet for the princes to come to some agreement on the defense of Wales, and Rhodri wished the current king of England a very long life.

  But the news was good for Nicole. With no Welsh alliance necessary to sway the outcome of the now ended war, King Stephen no longer needed Nicole for political reasons. She wasn’t as important to him as she’d been mere weeks ago.

  And none of that mattered if de Vere didn’t surrender his claim on Nicole or decide not to arrest a certain Welsh bard. The earl’s stiff spine and sour expression didn’t bode well.

  But what else could the earl do, given Alberic’s stance? And given the large numbers of soldiers at Alberic’s immediate command. With his small escort, Aubrey de Vere couldn’t hope to win a challenge of arms. Rhodri could almost smell the earl’s inevitable retreat.

  De Vere scowled at Alberic. “The king will not be pleased that one of his wards has been defiled, but as you say, the king no longer has need for Nicole to marry a Welsh noble. I shall inform the king of her marriage and whereabouts and allow him to decide whether or not to take further action.”

  Nicole grumbled quietly. “I was not defiled.”

  Rhodri smiled at the complaint but was willing to allow the earl his opinion if only he would leave!

  De Vere said a curt fare-thee-well to Alberic and bowed courteously to Gwendolyn before stalking off, his escort scurrying to catch up.

  Nicole shoved the harp into his arms and wasted no time in flying down the stairs and leaping into Alberic’s arms. The crowd finally cheered, thinking Nicole thanked Alberic for sending the earl on his way. Rhodri knew better. For the first time in eight years, Nicole could look on her brother-by-marriage without William screaming at her to do murder.

  Then Nicole squealed and launched herself at her sisters. Gwendolyn, strikingly beautiful and willow slender—so she must have given birth. Emma, rounder and softer but no less beautiful in her own right.