The Wishing Well (Legends of Love Book 1)

by Avril Borthiry

  Curiosity demanded an answer. “What became of him? Grant, I mean.”

  “He married a distant cousin of the king, a richer prize than you.”

  “She has my sympathy.” Nausea nudged Lora’s stomach. “And surely you don’t condone what he did to Gareth.”

  The earl sighed. “No, I don’t. But surely you know the lad would have died at the end of a rope anyway. He overstepped his bounds.”

  “Did he? As you’ve pointed out, I’m not of noble blood.”

  He huffed. “An invalid argument, since neither of you knew the truth at the time.”

  A log hissed, drawing Lora’s attention to the hearth as she deliberated.

  The truth? If you only knew the truth. If you only knew my intentions after I leave here tonight.

  “Why now, my lord?” she asked. “Why are you telling me all this now, after all this time? Mama believes you’re burdened rather than sick. Is that so? Does this admission, then, serve as some kind of release for you?”

  Emotions played across the earl’s face with almost as much intensity as the firelight.

  “I’ve been burdened, aye, and overly long. Some secrets are like parasites. They feed upon a man’s soul. Perhaps, in sharing what I know, I hope to gain a little restoration. Lately, too, I’ve had an unsettling feeling that all this,” he gestured around the chamber, “is coming to an end.”

  His words, strangely prophetic, brushed a chill across Lora’s neck. “But Rothwyn is under no threat.”

  “Actually, it is, which is the main reason I brought you back. As much as it pains me to say it, the future of my little domain rests with you.”

  Lora’s eyes widened. Is he addled? “You jest.”

  “I regret I do not.” He frowned. “I hoped Elizabeth might have blessed me with another child, my child. I should have liked a son, an heir for Rothwyn. But it wasn’t to be. Your existence proves that the infertility lies with me, not her. Otherwise, I might have considered taking a mistress of good breeding, simply to father a bastard heir.”

  “A solution befitting a noble, my lord,” Lora said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  “Pah! An ill-placed remark from one such as you. As if you have any right to moral opinion. Besides, I doubt your mother would have cared. She has never loved me as I love her. Indeed, I confess there are times when I wish…” He cleared his throat. “Never mind. All that aside, I’m still in need of an heir.”

  Lora bit down. There are times when you wish what?

  “What does this have to do with me?” she asked, pushing other thoughts away. “As has been made quite clear tonight, I’m not your child.”

  “Beyond the walls of this chamber, you are.” His eyes narrowed. “So, you will marry a man of my choosing, who will be given charge of Rothwyn. Your children, assuming you have them, will continue the line.”

  Lora stared at him, an inner voice reminding her that none of this would come to pass. To argue, then, served little point. Yet her tongue rebelled and charged into the fray.

  “A man of your choosing?” She gave a derisive laugh and rose to her feet. “Considering the barbaric nature of your previous choice, my lord, I’m already afraid for my well-being. I am, after all, a fallen woman, and not in the least repentant. What man of good character would have me?”

  The earl’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair’s arms. “Don’t flatter yourself, girl. Rothwyn is the prize in this marriage, not you. An agreement has already been made. Sir Renald offered for you earlier this evening and I accepted. Had I known you were still une vierge, I might have tried for a better match. But the man is of good stock and a capable knight. He’ll serve Rothwyn well, I’m sure.”

  Resentment curled into a fist beneath Lora’s ribs. Ignore it. It means nothing. None of it. Let it go. Let it go. She slowed her breathing. There are times when you wish what, my lord?

  “A surprise, I must admit, but not an unpleasant one.” She surrendered to a smile. “Sir Renald has proven himself to be a man of good heart. I’m sure he’ll suit very well.”

  The earl’s eyebrows lifted. “Sweet Mother of God, the girl has acquiesced. I expected a fight.”

  “Perhaps my years at Whitestone mellowed my spirit.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” He squinted at her. “I see something other than capitulation in your eyes. What is it?”

  “Nothing really. Merely a notion about what shaped your destiny.”

  “Indeed? Pray, enlighten me.”

  She prayed he would enlighten her in return. “It’s all because you fell from a horse. It changed everything. You must wish it had never happened.”

  An expression of puzzlement crossed his face. “Nay, that is not what I wish at all.”

  Disappointment dampened her hope. “Still, had you not done so—”

  “I would not have met your mother. Aye, I understand your meaning.” He scratched his head. “But it was not the fall from the horse that changed everything.”

  Lora fidgeted on her feet. “So, what did?”

  His mouth firmed. “I’ve said all I mean to say for now. I’m weary and need to rest. You may leave.”

  Groaning inwardly, she wavered, tempted to push him for an answer, but she knew his stubbornness surpassed her own. Besides, he truly looked exhausted. All at once it occurred to her, dependent on the outcome of the wish, that she might never see him again. She swallowed against a sudden and startling thrust of grief.

  “Good night, then, my lord,” she murmured.

  He gave a single nod and grunted a reply as she turned toward the door. She opened it, and was about to step across the threshold when another question flew into her brain. “Tell me,” she said, “do you know a man by the name of Iorwerth?”

  The earl appeared to ponder a moment. “The name means naught to me. Should it?”

  “Nay, I just wondered.” Her hand shook as it settled on the latch. “Good night.”

  He cleared his throat. “I fell in love with your mother.”

  Lora sighed. “I know.”

  “That’s what I wish had never happened.” He twisted in his chair and regarded her, his expression wretched. “I fell in love with your mother and it changed everything.”

  Chapter 21

  Lora hurried down the winding stone staircase, one hand grazing the wall, steadying her somewhat foolhardy descent. Her breath rasped over the tightness in her throat as her mind raked over all she had learned that night. The reunion with the earl had been more difficult than she’d imagined, and far more fulfilling. It seemed predetermined, somehow. All part of the miserable design. All part of destiny’s mistake. Without it, she might never have understood. Never have chosen her words.

  For years, the earl had presided over Rothwyn, surrounded by those who served him. Obeyed him. Feared him. And not one of them knew the truth. Godfrey FitzGilbert was, at heart, a sad and lonely man. A man who wished he had never fallen in love.

  Of all the forces under Heaven, love is the most powerful. It changes everything. Never forget that.

  Iorwerth’s words, echoed only moments ago in similar form by the earl. But who was Iorwerth? A man who could disappear like a wisp of smoke in a breeze. One whose voice spoke for Lora’s ears only. A man who claimed to know her father, yet the earl had never heard of him. So, he must have been speaking of Papa.

  Yet, how could he know the mood of a man who lived a week’s ride away? Lora knew she’d heard the name somewhere before. But where? She tried to remember, wondering why it felt so…significant.

  At the main door, she paused, taking a moment to collect herself. Her return to Rothwyn that morning had caused enough of a stir. She didn’t need to attract more attention by behaving like a woman possessed, although something had surely taken possession of her. Many years before, she’d tossed a paltry piece of gold into the well and asked for wings. She felt, now, as though they were within reach, like a caged bird given freedom.

  She pulled the door open, her
eyes widening at the sight and sound of rain hitting the cobbles. Unperturbed, she stepped outside and lifted her face to the night sky. A memory, fully formed, clawed its way to the front of her mind. It had been raining the day she’d recovered the medallion.

  Gareth’s breath against my ear. Raindrops in his hair. A swallow swooping by, feathers glistening.

  “Do you think they only fly when the sun is on their wings, Lora FitzGilbert? If you had a pair of wings, would you not use them every day?”

  “Will I see you tonight?”

  “You’re utterly without shame.”

  “I know. Will I?”

  “Not tonight. I’m going into the village to see a friend. Iorwerth is someone I’ve known since…”

  “He knew Gareth!” The revelation pulled the blood from her head and she reached blindly for the doorjamb. A hand, warm and strong, grabbed hers.

  “Careful, my lady.”

  Head still swimming, Lora blinked up at the man chosen to be her husband. “Sir Renald! Thank you. Um… the steps are a little slippery.”

  He frowned. “Which begs me to question why you are out here, especially at this hour.”

  Lora bristled and tugged her hand free. “I might ask you the same. Were you following me, sir?”

  To her surprise, he chuckled. “Aye, I was, and unashamedly. I saw you leave your father’s chamber. I assume he spoke to you of my offer?”

  The eager anticipation in his voice dissolved her indignation. She was, after all, deceiving him. Deceiving everyone at Rothwyn. “Yes, he did,” she replied, softening her tone.

  “And I trust you accepted willingly and in good heart?”

  Lora nodded. “I am beyond pleased with what I learned tonight.” Not a total falsehood.

  Renald exhaled. “Tres bien. Then I am very pleased also. The earl feared you might be resistant to the idea.”

  She laughed. “My swift acquiescence did surprise him.” Curious to know the true mindset of the knight, she continued with a pointed statement. “And your relief is quite understandable, Sir Renald. Rothwyn is a fine prize for you.”

  His expression sobered as he took her hand again. “Indeed it is, but I swear I would have offered for you anyway. What has gone before is of no importance to me. I look only to the future, which I pray will be fortunate for both of us.”

  She studied him for a moment, seeking duplicity but finding only truth. With a lump in her throat, she stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

  “I’m truly glad I met you, Renald,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear. “You’re a good man.” But what has gone before is of extreme importance to me, which is why I must leave you now.

  His hand tightened around hers as she drew back. She felt the heat of his desire. It glimmered in his eyes and roughened the texture of his voice. “Will you allow me to escort you to your chamber now, my lady?”

  A pity, Lora thought, that her final few words to Renald had to be mostly false.

  “Not just yet. Actually, it’s fortuitous that you followed me.” She smiled. “The earl wishes to see you. Certain things came to light during our discussion that you need to be aware of. Nothing unpleasant, but significant nonetheless.”

  He raised a brow. “He wishes to see me now? Tonight?”

  “Without delay, while these things are still fresh in his mind.” She pulled her hand from his. “He likely has his squire searching for you as we speak. And I wish to take a little more air before I retire. ’Tis why I came out here tonight.”

  His frown returned as he eyed the sky. “But the rain—”

  “Has almost stopped. Besides, I find it quite refreshing. Convent life gave me an appreciation for the simplest of God’s blessings.” At least that part is true, she thought, appeasing herself. “May I suggest you don’t keep the earl waiting? He was already quite fatigued when I left him.”

  “Very well.” Renald, his expression dubious, peered past her. “I ask, then, that you not remain out here overly long.”

  She offered her hand for what she knew would be a final kiss. “I assure you, sir, I have no intention of doing so.”

  Suppressing an urge to fidget, she waited until he closed the door. Then, with a stifled cry of elation, she flew down the steps and into the gloom. As she had on that fateful night twelve years before, she picked her way along the wall of the keep, concealed by the darker shadows. At the corner, she paused, breathless, the sound of her heart drumming in her ears. Shivering more from anticipation than cold, she stepped toward the well.

  She halted beside one of Gareth’s unfinished stones, consumed by a sudden need to acknowledge this world she was about to leave. To hear it, see it, feel it for one last time. She likened it to a signature, penned with simple sincerity at the end of a long list of memories.

  She filled her lungs, stepped forward, and opened her senses. The rain had all but stopped, although a swathe of bloated clouds still covered the stars. The air bore the smell of rich, damp earth mingled with harsher odors of human occupation. A breeze lifted her hair, toyed with her skirts, and ruffled the ivy that clung to Gareth’s stones. She tasted salt on her lips, no doubt carried inland from the sea. Distant scattered voices, words unintelligible, drifted across the bailey. Flaming torches, ensconced here and there along Rothwyn’s battlements, punched holes in the night. The familiar song of rushing water rose up from the depths, likely invigorated by the recent rainfall.

  And then, from behind her, came the sound of a soft footfall. A prickle ran across Lora’s neck and over her scalp. Her instincts flared. She knew, without turning, who approached. No ghost, this, but an unearthly soul all the same. No surprise, either. She had, she realized, been expecting him.

  “I have chosen my words,” she said.

  “Do you believe in what is to come?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have the medallion?”

  “I do.”

  Iorwerth stepped to her side. “Then make your wish, my lady.”

  “Not yet.” She felt his eyes land on her, sensed his bewilderment. A sudden and frigid gust of wind wafted over her and her breath clouded. She turned to face him. As before, he was cloaked, though the hood, this time, had been drawn back. His pale features, softened by the night, brought to mind a saintly church statue, finely sculpted and ageless. Dark hair, sleek strands tousled by the breeze, fell to his shoulders. To look in his eyes was akin to looking into the well, their fathomless depths secretive. Ancient.

  Lora shivered. “You knew Gareth.”

  He inclined his head. “Yes.”

  Her chest tightened as she voiced a question that played upon her fears. “Do you know if I’ll ever see him again?”

  A glimmer of wariness arose in his eyes. “I cannot say.”

  Cannot or will not? She suspected the latter. “Who are you, Iorwerth? And what will become of you after I make my wish? Can you tell me that?”

  “You have inherited your father’s curiosity. I’ll answer you as I answered him.” His gazed moved to the well. “I am a traveler, my lady. Time has many paths, and I’m free to walk them all. When this path ends, I will simply take a different one, and you will be where you’re supposed to be.”

  “A traveler.” Lora’s brain struggled to grasp the concept. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did your father.” A shout drifted across the bailey and Iorwerth raised his hood. “Enough questions. Unless you intend to pursue your current path for a little longer, I suggest you make your wish. I know of two souls who are waiting for it.”

  Another shout, a man’s voice, closer than before. It sounded like someone calling her name. Lora pulled the medallion from her pocket and stroked her thumb over the raised symbols. The last time she’d made a wish had been at the abbey. On that miraculous night her token had been naught but a mere pebble.

  Reminded, she reached into her pocket again and pulled out the pouch. “These are worth more than gold,” she said, tipping the little stones
into her palm. “For you, Papa.”

  “Gareth’s waiting, Lora.” Iorwerth’s breath felt like ice against her ear. “Set him free.”

  She nodded, took a breath, and squeezed her eyes closed as she whispered her chosen words. Then she opened her hand and watched as the medallion and stones tumbled into the void.

  The breeze stilled.

  “Lora!” She turned toward the voice, recognizing it as Renald’s. His shape loomed out of the shadows. No! Has the wish not worked? Why has nothing changed? Panic churned in her stomach and she glanced around for Iorwerth but he had vanished. Or abandoned her.

  Then a noise from above drew her gaze. It sounded like waves on the shore. Or perhaps wind in the leaves. Her breath caught. The clouds had gone. Countless stars littered the heavens, sparkling with a ferocity she had never seen. They seemed so close.

  So close, I could almost… She reached up, fingers outstretched, and plucked one from the sky.

  And the world went dark.

  Chapter 22

  A full moon rose high above the forest clearing. Its radiance flooded the earth and seeped under the door of the thatched cottage. The lone occupant, lured by the light, moved away from her humble hearth and stepped outside to admire the spectacle. Surrounded by an opalescent halo, the moon’s enigmatic visage intoxicated her spirit. She allowed her disciplined mind a rare moment of fancy, telling herself the phenomenon was a heavenly harbinger. A portent. Then she smiled at her own foolishness.

  The mortals, in their ignorance, called her a witch, a grwach, a seer. She was none of those things, yet she was all of those things. She preferred to call herself a traveler, one not bound by earthly fetters. Like the mortals, her blood flowed hot and strong in her veins. On this enchanted and beautiful night, it flowed a little hotter. A little faster.

  Nigh on sixteen years before, or maybe only a moment ago, a lost soul had summoned the magic of the ancient well. The woman’s words had been chosen with care, her wish solicited selflessly and with courage. Tokens of faith had been tossed into the depths, one prescribed, the others spontaneous.