It was worth the risk to Lora and she wasn’t even sure why. She felt the irresistible pull of the candle flame. To hell with burning her wings. She kicked at a pebble and drew a deep breath.
“There’s a storeroom above the armory. No one ever goes there, especially after dark. How about you meet me by the doorway at sunset?” They were her words, uttered with her voice, but surely it was that other condemned spirit that possessed her, controlled her. It was indeed a mad entity, at once both wonderful and dangerous, which refused to be denied.
Gareth lifted his foot from where it rested on the stone and planted his feet apart, fixing her with a dark stare. “Sweet Angel of God, what are you at, lady? Are you mad? It would be folly. Besides, you don’t even know me.”
“But I want to.” The admission spilled from her unbidden. Cheeks burning again, she met his stare head on. “I mean, it’s just that I… I really want to hear your story. I can’t explain why. I know I ask much of you, so I’ll understand if you refuse.”
But please don’t.
Gareth swung the hammer up and rested it on his shoulder, his expression thoughtful.
“’Tis beyond unwise,” he said, eyeing the sky as the sun disappeared behind a cloud. “But I’ll meet with you this once. Bring an offering, then. Gold works best.”
The shadow of the cloud settled around them, but Lora, stomach churning with excitement, barely noticed. “An offering? What for?”
He pulled a penny from his pocket and flicked it into the air, where it tumbled over and over in a perfect arc before disappearing down the throat of the well.
“So you can make your wish, of course.”
Lora leaned over the opening and peered into the darkness. “Did you make a wish just then?”
The chisel clattered on the stones as his hand shot out and grabbed her arm. “Be careful, lass. It’s a long way down. Aye, I made a wish”
Lora gritted her teeth at the heat of his fingers through her thin sleeve. “What did you wish for?”
He released her, leaving dusty white imprints behind.
“I cannot say.” A softness came to his expression as he touched his thumb to a corner of her mouth. “The wish must remain a secret or it won’t come true. I’ll see you at sunset, then, Lora FitzGilbert.”
Secrets.
Lora was good at those.
Chapter 3
They sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, facing each other in the musty gloom of the storeroom. The twilight gave Gareth’s features a ghost-like appearance, an effect further enhanced by the pale shirt he wore. Indeed, he presented a haunting image, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze resting on her. Lora breathed in his smell of sun-kissed linen and a hint of male sweat. For some odd reason, everything seemed strangely familiar, as if she’d been here before.
She’d never heard a tale like the one he wove. Nor had she ever been so entranced by a storyteller. Lora’s imaginary wings stretched, responding to the sound of Gareth’s voice as he spun his pagan legend. It flowed like a melody, his quiet words spoken with an obvious awareness of their vulnerable hiding place.
At times, when the sound of distant voices leached into the attic, or some small creature scurried about in a cobwebbed corner, he’d pause in his telling. Once silence returned, he’d shrug, smile, and continue with his story.
“So, you see, Lora FitzGilbert, yonder well was sought out long before Christian altars came to these isles. Its belly is filled with ancient offerings, cast there by those who wished for something they thought to be out of reach. Those who harbored a hopeless desire.”
Desire. Was that the strange stirring she felt? Hopeless, indeed.
“Those without a prayer,” she murmured, gathering her skirts about her legs and pulling her knees to her chin.
“Aye, those of us without a prayer.” Gareth rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Did you bring an offering?”
She placed her hand in his, drawn to her feet by his easy strength. “Yes. A gold link from a broken chain. You said gold works best.”
“It does.” Gareth’s fingers tightened around hers. “Remember, don’t speak of your wish to anyone, or it will break the spell.”
“I won’t. Although I confess the thought of my wish coming true frightens me.”
“Frightens you?” He lifted her hand and ran his lips across her knuckles. “Now why would you wish for something that frightens you, lass?”
Lora leaned into his touch, shuddering at the feel of his warm breath on her skin. “Because the thought of it not coming true frightens me even more.”
Something fluttered above them in the dark and Lora jumped.
Gareth chuckled. “It’s only a bat. I think the fairytale has come to an end, Lora FitzGilbert. The wayward daughter had better return to her castle before the earl sends out a search party.”
“I still have to make my wish.”
“Make it on your way back, the way I told you, but don’t stand too close to the edge.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?” The words spilled ungraciously from her tongue. By God’s grace, where was her modesty? She fidgeted, glad of the shadows as her face grew warm.
His amused grin brightened the gloom. “Aye. If you stand at the southwest corner of the keep and look over at the well, you’ll see me right enough.”
The flippant response heightened her embarrassment and prompted a sulky response. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Ah, come now. I’m only teasing you.” Gareth leaned in and brushed his lips across hers. “You’re so easy to tease.”
It took a moment for her stunned brain to voice her surprise. “You kissed me.”
The grin appeared again. “Nay, my lady. That was no kiss.”
“Yes, it was, Stonemason. Just who do you think you—?”
He pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers. He held her fast, the hard lines of his body pressing against hers, yet his lips felt soft and warm. Intoxicated by the intensity of the moment, her head swam. She clutched at his shirt and relaxed in his arms.
Gareth’s tongue explored the line of her mouth, pushing and probing, begging entry. A whimper escaped from the depths of her throat as she submitted, meeting the thrust of his tongue with tentative thrusts of her own.
He let out a soft groan, released her, and stepped back. “That, my lady, was a kiss.”
Lora bent to brush some imaginary dust from her skirt, trying to ignore the hot steady pulse between her thighs. Confused by her physical response, she sought to resist the wild, untamed desire for the man who stood before her.
“You forget yourself, sirrah, daring to take such advantage of me.”
He gave a soft laugh. “There you go again, my noble lass, trying to put me in my place.”
“My father would soon put you in your place if he knew of your advances.”
There followed a moment of dead silence in which Lora felt quite sick. Curse her pride. For God’s sake, why had she said such a thing?
“Aye, no doubt he would.” Gareth’s voice was ice cold. He spun on his heel and stepped toward the staircase. “I bid you goodnight, Lora FitzGilbert, and ask that you keep your distance from me in future. That is, if I still have a future here at Rothwyn.”
Lora flinched. “Of course, you do. Please forgive me. I should not have said that.” She saw him shake his head as he started down the stairs. “Gareth, please. I didn’t mean what I said, I swear it. It’s just that I never…I mean, you’re the first man who ever kissed me. It… it took me by surprise.”
He paused and looked back at her just as a sliver of moonlight lanced through the small gable window. It settled on his face, washing it with silver light. Sweet Heaven, he was handsome.
“You enjoyed it.”
It was not a question. Lora nodded. “It was wonderful.”
He gave her an odd look. “You’re a strange one, lass.”
“Please, Gareth. Will you not wait while I make my wish?”
“
I don’t think that would be wise.” He sighed. “Be careful, Lora.”
She nodded, her heart finding hope in the gentler tone of his voice. “I promise I won’t go close to the edge.”
“That’s not what I meant, although now you come to mention it…” A brief smile touched his lips. “Don’t stand too close to the edge and be careful what you wish for. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
By the time she left the armory, Gareth had disappeared into the night. With the warmth of his kiss still on her lips, Lora wandered over to the well and stood in the veiled moonlight. The gold coin, clasped tightly, dug into her palm.
From a place deep beneath the earth came the sound of water gurgling and splashing through ancient tunnels. Despite Gareth’s warning, she took a step closer to the edge, leaned forward to peer into the blackness, and cast her coin into the depths. Eyes closed, she made her wish.
You must believe, Lora FitzGilbert.
“I do,” she whispered, crossing her fingers as Gareth had shown her. “I do believe.”
A ripple of laughter slid out of the shadows and Lora’s eyes snapped open. It sounded like an echo, indistinct and hollow, but definitely female. Heaven help her, it sounded like it came from the well.
Holding her breath, she squinted into the void. At that moment, the thin cover of clouds peeled away from the moon and Lora blinked. Partially obscured by the thick moss and ferns that covered the inside of the well, something glinted in the moonlight.
Whatever it was shone like a golden lure and appeared to lie within an arm’s reach. Intrigued, Lora took another step forward. At that same moment, a hand closed around her arm.
“My lady, what on earth are you about?”
Lora gasped and spun around. “Oh, Master William! You startled me. I was just…curious about the well.”
Her father’s steward, a man she’d known all her life, glanced at the yawning hole in the earth and raised a brow. “There are instances when curiosity can be a dangerous thing. Come. Let me escort you indoors. ’Tis long past the time for a lady to be wandering about the grounds.”
Lora hoped the night masked the sudden flush of guilt upon her cheeks. Gathering her wits, she managed a smile and voiced what she hoped sounded like a lighthearted response. “Are you saying my father’s bailey is not safe for ladies after dark, sir?”
He released her, clucking his disapproval. “Now then, young Lora. Methinks you do know fine well what I mean. Gallivanting around the bailey at night is not proper behavior for a lady. What would the earl say?”
She hooked her arm through his, turning him away from the well in case he should also see the same golden object gleaming in the dark. Not that she feared William. In fact, she held a great fondness for him. He’d always been kind to her, but she didn’t want to share what she’d seen with anyone. “Since he’s unaware of my gallivanting, my father won’t say anything. Unless, of course, you mean to tell him.”
William grunted. “Just stay away from the well until the mason has it safely walled in, will you?”
“I’m not a child anymore, Master William. Don’t fuss.”
He grunted again. “Did you make a wish, little ’un?”
Lora’s stomach gave a funny lurch. The question took her by surprise, and William hadn’t used that term of endearment with her in years.
“A wish?”
“Aye. I saw you throw something into the well. Was it not to make a wish?”
“It was a pebble.” She hated the lie, but didn’t want to admit the truth. “Only a pebble.”
William studied her, his kind face lined by years of smiles and frowns, moonlight glinting off the silver threads in his hair. Lora swallowed against a fleeting pang of sadness. When had he grown old?
“It looked like a golden pebble to me.” He smiled. “Be careful, my lady. ’Tis an ancient power you’re fooling with.”
Lora’s brows raised. “You know of the stories?”
“Aye. I grew up not far from here. Local folks used to visit the well before your father built Rothwyn’s walls around it.”
“Do you believe it to have magic?”
“Magic? A frivolous word for such an ancient shrine. Let’s just say I respect the possibility of its power. Be they holy or pagan, unknown forces always merit our mortal respect.”
“You do surprise me, Master William. I had no idea you were so…interesting.”
He chuckled. “I’m not certain I should thank you for that observation. What I find interesting is that you know of the stories.” He waved a hand around the bailey. “They’ve been largely forgotten since all this came to be.”
Lora decided to tell the truth, or at least part of it. “I was speaking with the stonemason. He told me of it.”
“Ah, that explains it. The Welsh are born storytellers.” William patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “Let him finish his work before you venture close to the well again. Now, my lady, come inside before you catch a chill from this night air.”
*
Sleep eluded Lora that night. Her mind was a bubbling cauldron of thought, a relentless tumble of anticipation and excitement. Her body responded in kind, trembling, twisting and turning beneath the covers.
Had she imagined the strange laughter? And what was the object that glinted in the dark? Had she imagined that, too?
One thing she had not imagined was Gareth’s kiss. He’d awoken something within her, a subconscious hunger that had hitherto slept, an intoxicating desire craving fulfillment. Even now, her skin burned thinking about his touch, his mouth on hers. How could something that felt so right ever be deemed wrong?
Lora made another wish hidden beneath the guise of a prayer. This one begged for the dawn to hasten its arrival, so she could see Gareth again and hear his voice.
No sooner had the silent request been made than she heard a violent rattle against the window shutters. She frowned and raised herself up on her elbows to listen. Rain, driven by a sudden and fierce wind, pelted like drum rolls across the wood. Lora groaned, her prayer for an early dawn being supplanted by another, this one for fine weather to accompany the sunrise. She didn’t fancy the idea of being cooped up in the castle all day.
Her second prayer remained unanswered. When the sun rose several hours later, it remained hidden behind a thick wall of windswept clouds that continued to drench the earth with an onslaught of rain. Exhausted, nerves taut, Lora pulled herself away from the miserable view outside her window and succumbed to her maid’s attention before heading downstairs.
The foul weather had shepherded many indoors to seek shelter, and the great hall was busier than usual. Lora knew Gareth was there, somewhere. The strange consciousness he had awoken in her stirred the moment she stepped over the threshold. She paused and glanced around.
It took but a moment to find him, seated nearby with three other men, his back to her. He looked over his shoulder, meeting her gaze with an imperceptible nod and the hint of a smile. His immediate awareness of her presence surprised her, and heat flooded her cheeks. Curse her foolishness, why did she have to blush every time she saw him?
He turned away, but not before she’d seen an amused gleam flare in his eyes.
He’s laughing at me. Damn him.
She spun on her heel, stomped over to the head table, and flopped down in a seat next to William.
“Did you see the weather? It’s absolutely vile.” Lora grabbed an apple from a bowl and bit off a large chunk.
William sat back in his chair. “Good morning, my lady. I expect it’ll clear by this afternoon. Did you sleep well?”
She swallowed too soon and the large morsel snagged at her throat, bringing involuntary tears to her eyes. “Are you sure? I slept well, thank you.”
The subsequent silence made her turn toward William, who regarded her with a solemn expression.
“What?” she asked, frowning, apple paused on the way to her mouth.
William cleared his throat. “It’s polite to return a greetin
g when one is received. Good morning to you, Master William would have been the courteous response. Actually, I’m not sure, but since the winds are coming in from the south, I’m guessing this is a short-lived storm that will soon pass. I don’t believe you slept well at all, and I’d like you to chew your food properly before you swallow. I once saw a man choke to death on a morsel of meat. Not pleasant.”
Lora sighed and set the apple down. “I’m sorry, Master William. Good morning to you. You’re right. I didn’t sleep well.”
He leaned forward. “Why? You’re not sickening, are you?”
Casting a fleeting glance at Gareth, she shook her head. “I was merely restless. Sleep would not come.”
William’s fingers sought the stem of his goblet and rotated it in a nonchalant fashion. “Welsh fairytales keeping you awake?”
Her denial came swift and sharp. “Nay, that’s not it at all. I had many thoughts plaguing me, but none in particular.”
The goblet continued to turn, a slow, deliberate movement under the gentle manipulation of William’s fingers.
“You live a life of privilege, Lora,” he said, each word spoken with quiet emphasis. “You should have few, if any, concerns.”
She gave a short, bitter laugh and felt the prick of tears at the back of her eyes. “I live in a gilded cage, Master William. Sometimes I feel inclined to escape it.”
The goblet stilled and his voice lowered. “Life outside that cage can be very harsh, my lady. I suggest you abandon any ideas of escape.”
Chapter 4
Gareth left the great hall soon after Lora’s arrival. As he passed, he turned her heart upside down with a smoldering glance and the hint of a smile, this one sincere. She returned it, mollified by the morsel of attention he’d thrown her way. Her blissful sigh all but blew William’s goblet off the table.
The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1) Page 3
