Once Upon a Kiss

by Nora Roberts

  He rolled off of her and scooped her into his arms. Before she knew what he was doing, he had leaped to his feet, still holding her, and begun to spin her around, laughter still booming. “You’re not a failure at anything, Erinn of Marlbury. Even your magic is as unique and unpredictable as you are. By all that is holy, you are enchanting. Beautiful and enchanting!” he shouted, spinning faster, and it was only then that they both noticed the wind that was blowing around them, a high, powerful wind with shrieking gusts that sent dust motes and bits of twigs swirling.

  Tynon stopped spinning and cradled her closer. Joy shot through her as she saw the tenderness in his eyes. But sudden doubt swirled within her, too, just like the whirling dust and twigs all around them. What have we done? What are we doing? I shouldn’t have…

  And then, over his shoulder, she saw something that drove everything else, even that mad, glorious kissing, from her mind.

  The keep was engulfed in a whirlwind. And slowly, slowly, as the whirlwind swept over it, through it, and past it, even as she watched, the blackened ruin disappeared before her eyes, the ivy blew away, the crumbling walls were no more.

  The wind died as suddenly as it had begun and the keep of Bordmoor glistened before her, grand and imposing, as it had appeared in the shimmering moments of yesterday’s sunset. Its stone walls were high and strong. Its towers spiked toward the skies, and even from this distance she could smell roasting meat on cookfires and hear the whinny of horses, the din of voices from the courtyard beyond.

  “Tynon—look!”

  He had already spun toward the sounds, and now stood with her clasped in his arms, staring, staring at the keep he had always known. His fortress, his home—strong and whole and vibrant with life and vitality.

  First disbelief and then joy lit his face. As if stunned, he set Erinn down and wheeled back to feast his eyes on the sight of Bordmoor Keep.

  “But only a moment ago it was a ruin. The spell must have just been broken. Just now.” In wonder, her voice dropped to a whisper. Tynon dragged his gaze from the keep and looked into her eyes. He saw that they shone with happiness. Happiness for him.

  “Yes. It broke just now. It broke while we were kissing.” He gripped her arms and grinned down at her as he pulled her against his chest. “Don’t you see, Erinn? We did it. We did it together. We broke the spell.”

  “I don’t see how!”

  “Magic.” He laughed and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Come on, I must see Rhys…and my steward, and the bailiff…and Marguerite.” Grabbing her hand, he began to run, pulling her with him toward the tall, upright gates and the full moat where swans swam upon the still, clear water.

  But Erinn tried to pull back. “Wait, Tynon. Please, stop.”

  He obeyed and turned to face her, his hand still holding tight to hers. “What’s wrong?”

  “You must tell me something…before we go in there.” She lifted her gaze to his and moistened lips that felt suddenly dry. “Who is Marguerite?”

  Tynon’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “What does Marguerite have to do with anything?”

  “Is she your…your lady? You said she wasn’t your wife, but is she…important to you?”

  “By all the fire in hell, yes, she is important to me.” He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her quickly on the lips. “She was my great-grandmother’s nurse. And mine as well. And she’s nearly as ancient as the sea.”

  A smile trembled across her lips, coming straight from her heart. She began to laugh again, even as he once more pulled her toward the keep. They ran together, side by side, he matching his long strides to hers, their hands clasped as if they would never let go of one another.

  And moments later, Erinn of Marlbury passed with Tynon of Bordmoor through the raised gate, crossed the courtyard bustling with llachlanders, and entered the restored and gleaming Bordmoor Keep.

  7

  THE SUN SANK in a fiery red-gold sky as Erinn brushed her hair before a flickering fire.

  She was in the same chamber where last evening she and Tynon had spent the night, bound together by a rough rope upon a meager straw pallet. Only now, instead of cold stone walls and a pallet, the chamber glowed with every evidence of comfort and beauty. The mirror hanging upon the wall was framed in burnished gold, and there were tapestries flanking it, and adorning the other walls as well—intricate embroidered tapestries such as Erinn had never seen.

  Instead of a pallet, there was a huge bed draped in rich blue velvet, with gold-fringed pillows piled upon it. Sweet-smelling reeds covered the floor, and candles glittered in golden sconces everywhere she looked. Then there was the fire—roaring cheerily in a scrubbed hearth, its welcoming warmth banishing the chill of evening.

  The silver brush that she was drawing through her hair had been resting on a small mahogany chest alongside a trio of golden candlesticks. There was a platter of berries and cheese, and a silver goblet of spiced wine had been brought to the chamber as soon as she had stepped into it.

  This Bordmoor Keep with its halls full of soldiers and servants, its treasures of wealth displayed from the solar to the tower to each chamber and anteroom was far different than the stark shell of a keep where she and Tynon had fought Red-beard and his fellow outlaws.

  And what had broken the spell, and restored Tynon’s home to its former glory? What had thrust it back into the world, rescuing it from the shimmery mysterious dimension to which it had been confined? Had it been the kiss, she wondered? Their kiss? Her hand paused in midair as memories returned of all the sensations and emotions that had rushed through her, igniting her soul during that long, heart-stopping kiss.

  A knock sounded upon the door, and a maidservant entered.

  “Duke Tynon requests your presence,” she said with a curtsey. “I will escort you.”

  Duke Tynon requests your presence. Erinn was stunned by the way her heart leaped at the words. What a fool you are, she told herself as she set down the brush with a clatter and rose, smoothing the skirt of her gown. One kiss from the man and you’re desperate to be with him every possible moment. Have you forgotten who he is? Do you wish to be a traitor to your family, to your home?

  But she already was, she thought heavily. The truth was that she was in love with her enemy. Something in Tynon of Bordmoor drew her inexorably to him, made her want to kiss him again, to be held by him, to be the one to make him smile.

  Did he feel the same?

  No, why should he? He made it clear at the start that you are nothing but a pawn. But that was at the start, a voice inside her argued. That was before the laughter, before the kiss…

  She felt heat and hope pulsing through her and pushed away all thoughts of the kiss as she followed the maidservant in silence.

  When she and Tynon had first entered the courtyard of the keep, they’d been greeted by a swarm of soldiers and servants alike, all clamoring, jostling, welcoming, and it was then that she and Tynon had learned that no one in the keep had even been aware that to those in the outside world, the grand keep of Bordmoor was gone. To them, the rest of the world had looked the same, except that the spell had locked them within the keep and the boundaries of the courtyard. Everything had appeared as it had always been to them, and they were not afraid—but they knew they couldn’t leave the castle, for an invisible wall prevented anyone within from passing through the gates. After trying again and again to no avail, they’d settled down to wait—waiting for Tynon to return home and rescue them from whatever enchantment had claimed the keep and locked its inhabitants within those thick, protective walls.

  Even stranger, they hadn’t been able to see what was going on beyond the moat—they hadn’t once glimpsed Erinn or Tynon or his men or the horses. They had only a view of trees and hills, the same view they looked upon every day. Even Rhys, waving on the balcony, had not seen his brother—he had only been waving and calling Tynon’s name to try to summon him quickly, should he be near.

  Rhys. As Erinn followed the maids
ervant through a maze of torchlit corridors she couldn’t help but smile as she thought of Rhys. The boy was a miniature version of Tynon himself—darkly handsome, with bold, intelligent eyes and a direct, outspoken, and aggressive manner that he clearly had learned from his brother. Rhys had thrown himself into Tynon’s arms, hugged him tightly around the neck, then jumped back as he saw Erinn, her pale hair atumble, her gown still strewn with grass.

  “Is this the witch? You forced her to break the spell? What are we going to do to her now?” he demanded, his eyes flashing at the slender woman from the land of the enemy.

  “We aren’t going to do anything to her, Rhys. She wasn’t the one who cast the spell. But she did help to break it.”

  “How? How’d she break it?”

  “Her power is very great,” Tynon said gravely as those who were gathered around them in the great hall murmured and fell back. Then Tynon glanced over at Erinn, and a slow grin curled around the corners of his mouth. “Do you want to tell him how you did it, or shall I?”

  “It was…a lucky accident, nothing more,” Erinn explained hastily. She fixed Rhys with a flustered smile. “Your brother helped me. We…did it together.”

  Over the boy’s head, her gaze met Tynon’s. His grin made her knees tremble.

  “You did, eh?” Rhys eyed her as if he didn’t believe a word she said. He spun back toward Tynon. “So now do we lock her in the dungeon until Marlbury surrenders?” he said eagerly. “How do we know she won’t cast another spell on us? A worse one. I think we’d better order Biddlow to lock her in the dungeon right now. I’ll go with him and—”

  “There will be no dungeon, Rhys.”

  “But—”

  “The lady is my guest,” Tynon said sharply, and his gaze became stern as he glanced first at his young brother and then at all the other servants and soldiers gathered around them. “Princess Erinn of Marlbury is my guest,” he repeated, raising his voice over the stunned murmuring that had greeted his words.

  Rhys looked incredulous, but there was no mistaking the iron in Tynon’s voice. “Is that clear? You will treat her, all of you, with the respect due any guest in our land.”

  And then he had propelled her before him into the hall, directed that she be made comfortable in one of the royal chambers, and gone off with his men, hammering questions at them as they followed him through the keep.

  Now she herself had been summoned. She had no idea what to expect next.

  The maidservant rounded a corner and ushered her down a flight of dizzily winding stairs, then along a corridor to a low-ceilinged chamber where Tynon sat at a long table with his steward. He was studying a sheaf of papers, but he looked up, then stood as Erinn stepped into the room.

  “Thomas, you may go,” Tynon told his steward. All the while his eyes were fixed on the woman who had paused just inside the doorway.

  Even as the steward slipped past Erinn, Tynon strode forward and drew her into the room. A jumble of emotions beset him as he gazed at her. She appeared to be poised and elegant, but her eyes were filled with worry despite her obvious efforts to appear serene.

  He took her into his arms, his chest feeling as though it would explode as she came willingly, her own arms twining around his neck. He breathed in the sweet womanly scent of her and bent his head to kiss her again, but she flinched away from him.

  “No, Tynon, no. How can we?” Her voice throbbed. “Have you forgotten who we are—and all that lies between us?”

  “Damn what lies between us. I want you, Erinn of Marlbury, and from the way you kissed me back there on the hill, you want me, too.”

  “But it cannot be.” She shook her head. “You know that as well as I. It isn’t possible—”

  “I’ll tell you what isn’t possible,” he said roughly. “It isn’t possible for me to wait another moment to kiss you again.” Then his mouth claimed hers, cutting off her protests. In his arms, with his hot kisses melting her bones, Erinn no longer remembered the list of reasons why they should never kiss again.

  The world flew away—and there were only the two of them, holding each other, clinging to the sweet passion tearing through them both. Until they heard a gasp just behind them that sent them jumping apart.

  A scrawny twig of an old woman with gray hair that fell in stringy coils to her pointed chin stared at them, her seamed face nearly as ashen as her hair. By her plain clothes and stooped shoulders she looked to be a servant, and she held a silver tray of wine goblets in hands that trembled.

  “Ah, so it is you, my lord duke.” Though she had obviously seen them kissing, after that one gasp she made no mention of it. Nor did she glance more than a moment at Erinn’s flushed cheeks. She hobbled into the room, the skirts of her brown kirtle rustling like dry leaves, and spoke in a low, rusty tone. “You are back with us. For a moment I thought you were a ghost—you and the lady.”

  “A ghost, Marguerite?” Somehow Tynon didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted to have been caught kissing the princess of Marlbury. He spoke casually. “It’s not like you to indulge fits of fancy.”

  With a quick, reassuring smile to Erinn, Tynon went to the old woman and gently took the tray from her hands, carrying it to a side table. “You look weary. Are you unwell?”

  “Sleep eludes me. It always has…” she mumbled sadly. “But never mind me, my lord. I am an old woman, given to strange thoughts and restless dreams.” She sighed as he took her arm and led her to a settle. But even as she sank upon it, she was studying Erinn, taking in her delicately sculpted features, the grace of her figure, the curtain of pale hair.

  “You’ve heard that Princess Erinn is my guest?”

  “Aye. ’Tis why I brought the wine. I wanted to see for myself the lady from Marlbury here in Bordmoor Keep.”

  “That’s well and good—but you’re too old and frail to wait upon me, Marguerite. Your days of work are done. You should be resting and letting the kitchen maids bring wine to you.”

  “I wanted to come. I wanted to see her.”

  Tynon went to Erinn, took her hand, and drew her toward the old woman. “Here she is, then.” He smiled as Marguerite continued to stare.

  “Marguerite has lived in Bordmoor Keep for nearly one hundred years now—longer than any other servant,” he explained as the old woman continued to study the girl before her. “Her mother was a kitchen maid in the time of my great-grandfather, and Marguerite lived here with her even as a child. And when she was grown, she served as lady’s maid to my great-grandmother, and then became my mother’s nurse. And eventually, mine, as well.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Marguerite.” Erinn spoke kindly, puzzled by the way the woman continued to stare at her. “Perhaps you would like a cup of wine,” she offered, turning toward the tray, for the woman still looked weak and shaky. But the elderly servant shook her head.

  “Nay, no wine, child. I’m off a bit, true, but ’tis only that it has been a long time since I’ve seen a lady of Marlbury inside this keep,” she murmured. “A very long time.”

  Marguerite continued to gaze at Erinn intently, her gentle blue eyes looking as wrung out and faded as a much-washed rag, as if they had seen too many unhappy things in their lifetime.

  “If the truth be told,” Erinn said quietly, “I don’t believe any lady of Marlbury has ever set foot in Bordmoor Keep before.”

  “Aye—one did. That I know.” The woman nodded sagely. “She was dark, like my lord duke here, not fair like you.” Her voice became dreamy. “But she was here. She was the one who started it all. My own dear lady, Olivia.” She shook her head. “Such a long time ago.”

  “Olivia?” Tynon frowned, studying her with concern. “My great-grandmother? You’re confused, Marguerite. She was never a lady of Marlbury. She came from Gwent.”

  Marguerite suddenly became aware of his piercing, questioning glance, and she stiffened. The little color that remained in her ashen cheeks vanished, and she shook her head quickly. “Never mind, my lord. You are right. I was m
istaken.” But she said it too quickly, and there was a furtive glint in her eyes.

  “Perhaps ’twas only a ghost,” she added in a low tone, ducking her head, but not before Erinn saw a film of tears in those sad old eyes.

  She hurried forward, unable to contain herself. “What is it, Marguerite?” she asked. Something in the woman’s words set off a strange thrumming inside her. She knelt and touched the old servant’s gnarled hand. “There’s something more, isn’t there? You’re unhappy—why?”

  “She was the one who was unhappy,” the old woman whispered, her lips barely moving as she spoke. “I only felt for her—felt her pain, her guilt, like it was my own. It all came back to me when I saw you there, kissing my lord duke. Aye, it all came back…”

  Her voice trailed off, but as Erinn and Tynon looked at one another, puzzled, Marguerite suddenly yanked her hand away.

  “Never you mind,” she gasped. “I won’t tell you about it. I never told a soul.”

  Erinn bit her lip, for some reason unable to tear her gaze from the servant’s pale face. Marguerite seemed confused, but her unhappiness was all too real. Something seemed to buzz in the air, a tension, a humming. There was something here, something important. If I were a better witch, it would be clear as glass, she thought, and suddenly, unbidden, there came into her mind the image of glass—a looking glass—a looking glass she had noticed in walking through the keep earlier, when she’d seen that brief flicker of the midnight-haired woman and heard the sounds of weeping.

  “Was that Olivia?” she asked suddenly, and took a deep breath. “Marguerite, I think I saw her. Olivia, I mean. In the looking glass in one of the chambers.”

  “I have seen her there oftimes, too.” She nodded. “Weeping. Always weeping. Because she felt it was all her fault.”

  Erinn glanced questioningly at Tynon, wondering if he wanted her to continue, and he nodded quickly. Once more she touched the servant’s hand.