by Ruth Kaufman
She recognized only a few faces in the crowd. Thomas, the gardener, with whom she’d once tended her mother’s roses, held a rake. Beside him stood Harold, who worked in the stables. And Aldred, the blacksmith. The very man who had crafted Morgan’s new sword.
Annora’s stomach churned. Roger’s betrayal was expected. That once loyal retainers would turn on her twice, wouldn’t accept her word even after she offered proof, pierced her with grief.
She struggled to breathe as terror mingled with guilt. This was her fault. Morgan’s life was at risk again because of her stubbornness and determination to wreak revenge on her uncle. To save people who betrayed her at his behest. On the other hand, if they’d turned on him to save her and themselves, some might’ve died. And Roger might have threatened their lives or those of their families if they didn’t accede to his demands.
“What have they done to deserve this?” someone asked. “What proof do you have they are ill?”
“Possessed by the devil, they are.”
“No, no. Their humors are out of balance. That’s all,” replied Kerwyn, the cook. The lone voice of reason amidst a mob. “They only need proper dosing with herbs to restore them to health. I could prepare—”
“Chain them,” Roger demanded.
Men seethed closer, a swarm of snakes eager to pounce on its prey. The prong of a rake caught her skirt. Annora bit back a scream as she jumped to avoid her attacker. The fabric tore, the sound barely audible over the crowd’s jeers.
Morgan stepped in front of her, arms out, shielding her from poking weapons. Even strong as he was, how could he take on this many?
Someone tossed a fishing net at Morgan, but he easily caught it and wrapped it around his arm. Another swung a chain at his feet. He leapt over the metal links. With a growl, the man snatched the chain back before Morgan could grab the end.
Roger climbed onto the table. “Aye, good people, it’s our duty to make our world safe from demons such as these. Crazed folk belong in chains. We must harness them before they cast the evil eye on you. Your aid will be well rewarded. I don’t care what you do to the man, but don’t harm the woman. She’s mine.” His evil smile portended misery and pain. “This is your fault, Annora. You’ve pushed me too far. I must lock you away for the rest of your days. You can’t be trusted to care for yourself or your lands.”
Annora’s mouth went dry. Her worst fears had come to pass. Strength in numbers would prevail over Morgan, propelling her into Roger’s hands yet again. The one place she’d vowed never to go. One reason she’d been willing to jump.
This incident would convince any who still wondered if Roger spoke true. All would believe her a lunatic.
Annora was back where she started. Nay, farther back. Not only did she stand to lose Amberton, her birthright and home, but Morgan, too. She’d failed again.
She’d lose everything she held dear.
* * *
Morgan’s powers itched to surge forth as the mob slithered closer. He could defeat the men, he had no doubt. Fear stopped him. What if, in saving her, he lost her forever when she realized he could create storms and call lightning from the sky? What if Annora was hit…and wounded? Or killed?
Getting her to accept his immortality had proved nearly impossible. The extent of his abilities was sure to frighten her, raise doubts, maybe even make her believe he was possessed. If she saw what he was capable of, how could she believe in him? To say nothing of the damage his powers would wreak on her home. He fought to restrain his secret skills until he was absolutely sure no other means of escape existed.
Morgan braced himself, then breathed deep, head back, calling on his deepest reserves of strength.
Shielding Annora from the swarm, he shifted from side to side to throw off any attackers. As he leaned left to counter a dagger swipe, a growling man lunged to his right and jabbed a pitchfork at her, snagging her skirts. She squealed and yanked them free.
Morgan whirled. He kicked the pitchfork, sending it flying from the man’s hands. The rest scrambled to avoid the descending weapon. The man rushed forward with a snarl, head down, barreling into Morgan’s chest. He effortlessly lifted the man and tossed him into the air.
The man landed hard amongst the throng in front of the table, taking several others down with him. Screams and moans abounded.
Uncertainty filled the remaining men’s faces. They backed away, clearly wary of suffering a similar fate. That bought him a little time.
“Get him,” Roger shrieked. “He’s but one man against many.”
Roger was right for once.
Indecision raged—save Annora immediately or pray that reason would somehow prevail? Morgan would need the full complement of his powers to defeat this many opponents. But he wasn’t sure what the impact would be. He hadn’t called upon his skills all at once in ages. Never tested the effect of employing so much energy within a closed, albeit large, space. Could he control the outpouring and not harm Annora?
He’d have to rely on his own restraint. Unlike Pandora, who opened her box and released the evils of the world, managing only to keep Hope inside, he’d liberate his dreadful forces with greater care.
Each moment he waited brought more anguish to the woman he loved, torturing him, too. Yet each moment preserved her high opinion of him. Preserved her love.
Where were the voices of his ancestors when he needed them most? He searched his mind. Nothing. This decision he’d have to make alone.
He’d save Annora. No matter the consequences.
Morgan saw terror in her gaze. He knew she couldn’t take much more. Keeping an eye on the men, he placed his hands on her shoulders, hoping to soothe her. “Annora. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.” She trembled beneath his hands.
“No matter what?”
“You’re making me more scared,” she said. “Yes. I love you. I trust you no matter what.”
“I love you, too” he whispered. “You are my heart’s desire.”
Her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open.
“Leave. Get as far from me as you can. Then brace yourself. Hurry.” He stood tall. “Now you shall know me, Annora. Know who I truly am.”
She fled.
Morgan stretched his arms high over his head and concentrated on liberating the Mysteries. A roar escaped him as the forces gathered and swelled within. They exploded in a rush, freed from the dam of his will. His blood pulsed with the pounding rhythm of supreme energies unleashed.
As his powers filled the hall, the fire leapt and soared in the hearth, threatening to surpass its barrier. Natural forces sought unity as energy surged from his heart and pooled in his hands.
“Let me out!” someone shouted.
“Get off me, I can’t breathe,” another moaned.
People trampled each other in their rush to flee. But swirling winds prevented their escape.
He struggled to temper the bright spirals spewing from his fingertips, willing them with all his might to target Roger’s men and not Annora’s. As each ray of light struck with a loud zap, a man grabbed his chest and collapsed. Roger screamed, high-pitched. The stench of charred flesh and hair flooded the air.
The Mysterie of Light had claimed half of his opponents. Now to the rest.
Roger leapt off the table and slinked against the wall toward the door. “God save us. You are possessed. The devil is upon us. Kill him, if you can,” he screeched. “Kill her, too.”
Morgan’s anger exploded with the elements. Fire shot from the hearth with a deafening whoosh, setting the hall ablaze. Gusts of wind smashed through the high, arched windows. A torrent of glass rained down on the living and the dead.
“No!” he cried.
Too much, more than he’d anticipated. He fought to rein in his emotions and the conflagration with them. But the accumulation of powers sapped his control. He was so close to completely losing his hold the whole castle might explode.
A shriek rose over the whir of wind and crackling
flames. Annora. Why hadn’t she fled? She slid against the wall to his right, greedy fingers of fire pursuing her. Smoke wafted off her gown.
“Taliesin preserve me.” Morgan flung his arms wide, his hair lifting in the wind as flames licked at his feet. “Halt all. By the Grail, halt all!”
The blaze extinguished in a ferocious, roaring whirl of sparks and smoke.
Annora’s screams pierced him like spears as he threw himself on her to smother flames claiming her skirts. He beat them with his bare hands, then yanked off his tunic and wrapped it around her.
Too late? His love lay beneath him, not moving. Though he’d put out the flames before they burned her, she could’ve inhaled an excess of smoke. Morgan collapsed beside her, holding her close, desperately seeking her breath.
Nothing. His fury, his rage, had killed her.
He let out a roar as bitter regret surged. One of his deepest fears had come to pass: in trying to protect Annora, he’d hurt her. His emotions for her were so strong they impacted command of his powers.
What had he done? He held Annora’s still-warm hand. Roger’s men, and perhaps some of Annora’s, lay dead. Smoldering benches and tables rested on their sides. No one, nothing in the great hall moved.
Morgan stood to get a better view. He coughed and swayed, arms and legs tingling. As quickly as the powers filled him, they drained away, sucking his strength. Of a sudden he couldn’t feel his hands. His legs would no longer support his weight.
He fell to his knees.
Annora.
All went black.
* * *
Annora awoke to piercing pain. As if she were on fire. The fire! She opened her eyes and screamed, but only a squeak came out. Her throat burned.
No one answered or moved.
Almost everything in Amberton’s great hall had been destroyed. Motionless bodies lay in the corner, many tables and chairs were blackened. All of the windows had broken. Some ceiling beams were torched. Ashes littered every surface. She could barely breathe the smoky air.
Annora coughed to clear her throat, but stopped at a surge of pain. She fought to rise, but collapsed back onto the now-grimy floor.
Roger. Had he escaped again or was he among the dead? She’d helped some of her people flee before the winds grew too strong, but how many had died?
Morgan…where was he? Lying several feet away, white hair blotched with soot, burn marks spotting his boots and clothing. His eyes were closed, but he breathed.
He had done this.
Horror and fascination had rooted Annora to the spot as dazzling streaks of lightning, or something very like, had flown from his fingers straight to the hearts of Roger’s men, killing them instantly. The floor vibrated and rumbled beneath her feet, the very winds seemed to be at his beck and call. With utmost determination on his face, his hair blowing back, he’d raised his arms over his head and sent fire whooshing through the hall. Like a Greek god seeking vengeance.
Amazement was the only word for all Morgan had done. She now believed the impossible was possible. He was an immortal with magical powers, as ap Lewis had hinted the very day Morgan landed on her doorstep. As he and Ninian had tried to prove to her.
Should she be frightened that the man she loved had such awe-inspiring and destructive powers? Saddened that he’d outlive her? Feel inferior?
Their differences and fear of the unknown explained why he’d been so adamant about concealing information. Perhaps that was why immortals had destined mates, who’d understand and share so much.
For so long he’d tried to show her, but in her stubbornness she wouldn’t see. Ninian stabbed him and he healed almost instantly. The Gathering, where she had truly met Lancelot and seen the Knights of the Round Table. The sudden, violent rainstorm, clearly an example of Morgan controlling the weather with his thoughts. A smile lifted her lips. He’d been so unhappy that she didn’t believe him, he’d made it rain to release his misery.
One good thing…if his tales were true, then he couldn’t be dead.
Her throat was too parched to cry out. Slowly, she inched her way to Morgan. She couldn’t face the chaos her home had become alone.
“Morgan,” she whispered. “Please be alive. Wake up.”
* * *
Someone tugged on his arm. Morgan opened his eyes and sat up.
“Thank goodness. Annora.” He’d never felt more relieved. “I feared you were dead. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Help me.” She sounded so pained he suffered with her. “I think I’m going to faint.”
She did.
Annora’s breathing was slow and shallow, her clothes partially burned. Her hair was singed, but he smoothed the rest off of her face. He lifted her carefully and held her against his chest. With one hand he opened the charred door. He hurried into the sunshine.
Morgan would send for Ninian, find Annora the best physicians, cures, creams, whatever it took to help her heal. He thought he’d lost her twice this day. He wouldn’t lose her again.
After setting her down in the garden just past the kitchen, worry redoubled. Fire had insidious side effects. He’d seen people survive the flames only to die of smoke inhalation or putrefaction. There was nothing he could do but wait.
Guilt consumed him with a force as searing as the flames. He’d burned Annora’s home, killed her uncle and his men. Some of her servants, too. All out of fear for her, his overwhelming need to protect her.
What would she think of him when she recovered from shock? When she realized he’d caused the firestorm and took stock of the damage? He couldn’t bear her rejection.
Her eyes fluttered open. She swallowed and took several gasping breaths. “Everything hurts. Am I going to die?”
“I don’t know.”
She closed her eyes again. “Don’t leave me.”
Morgan knew he should leave to find or send for help. He was afraid her condition would worsen if he stayed and did nothing except comfort her, but also feared she might die alone if he left.
Love certainly did strange things to a man.
“Hold me.”
He did, gathering her close, tears stinging his eyes.
“Tell me all will be well. Though my home has burned and people are dead….” She jerked against him. “What of Roger? How many of my people perished? The ones that supported me, that is. I’ll pray for the souls of those who betrayed me and those who succumbed to force.”
“I don’t know. I’ll search for your uncle. And count the others. Then I’ll locate your people and enlist their aid. We’ll send for a physician.” He struggled to keep his tone matter of fact, so he wouldn’t weep at the mayhem his powers had wrought. He hadn’t truly wept in centuries. Not since King Arthur’s death.
“Morgan, you saved me. I owe my life to you.”
He sucked in a breath. That was the last thing he’d expected her to say. Didn’t she remember the havoc he’d wreaked on the hall? He couldn’t bring himself to remind her that his unrestrained powers were to blame for her injuries.
He could ask Ninian to cast the spell of Forgetting. Manipulating one’s enemies with spells or powers was easy, but how could he do that to Annora, someone he cared for? In Ninian’s shop she’d begged him never to employ spells on her. He wouldn’t. It would be like lying. Unpleasant aftereffects aside, he didn’t want to have any more secrets from her.
Where Annora was concerned, his pride controlled him. He was all too mortal in that regard. Just like his father.
She knew how to make him want her. He should resist the lure of her enchantments, stronger than the spells of any magician or wizard he’d met. He should hope his form of magic, his powers, had scared her away. But in his heart of hearts, he wanted her to want him.
More fool he, to worry about that at a time like this.
“Thank God, I still have you,” she continued. “Can you forgive me?”
Morgan looked down at her in shock. What if the fire had done something to her mind? Had she cracked f
rom all of her suffering and finally turned lunatic? Silently he prayed to every god he’d ever heard of that she still possessed her wits.
“Why on earth would you beg my forgiveness?”
“Because I didn’t believe you. I nagged until you told me who you were, then refused to understand. You went out of your way to offer proof, which I rejected. Only when I saw with my own eyes the lengths to which you’d go to protect me did I change. I don’t understand how, but I know your incredible tales are true. You are the son of Merlin. You are immortal and possess astonishing powers. I want to know everything about you, your family and immortals.”
“I destroyed your home.” I couldn’t contain my anger. You almost died because of me.
“You saved me from a fate worse than death…being trapped in my room by Roger and at his mercy. You slayed my enemies. I managed to help some of my servants get out. Many furnishings were destroyed. A loss, yes. A significant amount of damage to repair, yes. But we can rebuild.” She looked up at him, eyes shining with love and faith. “We can build a new life, a new home. Together.”
“I’ll help you restore your home and get your affairs in order. I’ll find sufficient guards and soldiers to keep you safe from any threat.” He owed her that much, for certes. He’d rest easier knowing she’d be safe. “Then I must leave. Forever.”
“Why? I know who you are now.” Annora shifted on his lap and pressed close. She smelled of smoke. Her hand slid up to stroke his hair. “Return to your quest. I’ll wait.”
“My quest has ended. I rescued my father. He’ll soon be well.”
She shifted in his arms and smiled. “That’s wonderful. What an accomplishment. You and your father must be thrilled. I know how miserable confinement can be and the desperate urge to be liberated. I’d love to meet him. And it means you’re free,” she said. “I’m free. Don’t you want to be with me?”
More than you could ever know. But he had a serious new concern about the impact of his love. His feelings for Annora were so intense, so protective, he reverted to the inexperienced youth he’d been hundreds of years ago. Love sapped his control, a fact both frightening and dangerous. If he stayed, he might do more damage, kill more people. And what if his emotions somehow turned against her? He couldn’t trust himself in her presence. How could he know when his emotions would erupt by way of the elements?
