Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  Arto handed Merlo off to a groom and helped her from the saddle. As she stood on the ground and tried to move, fire laced up and down her legs.

  And it wasn’t the exciting kind of fire that the touch of Arto’s hands elicited. No, this was almost crippling. She tried to take a few steps and stumbled.

  Arto supported her, an arm firmly around her waist. “You need to walk some. You’ll be very sore tonight. Nomara Sette’s maid will help you.”

  And so began Cella’s first days of torture.

  The first day on the road to Kerfaen was cold and cloudy. And painful. Her legs were sore and just became more so.

  The weather worsened.

  It began to rain. The nights were freezing and they awoke to heavy frost each morning.

  Cella was constantly wet and cold.

  She smelled like horse and could barely stand at the end of each day, much less walk.

  She was so tired, she could barely eat. Either Tors or Arto served her dinner and made sure she ate it. She tried to look after herself and not make more work for anyone, but they seemed to conspire to ensure the only things she did each day was ride and eat.

  She tried to be grateful. She was grateful.

  She found that it was possible to be miserable and grateful at the same time.

  This was far harder than she had imagined.

  Nomara Sette had provided her with a rub to ease some of the soreness in her legs. Every night Arto came to her tent and massaged it into her legs and buttocks.

  It seemed to help. Cella supposed she should have found the experience erotic, but it was just too damn painful. The agony of her tortured muscles being rubbed each night didn’t excite her. The first night, she shed silent tears.

  Last night, Arto even slept with her. He claimed it was too cold for her to sleep alone. After he rubbed her sore muscles, he tucked his body against hers. He was wearing leggings and a soft shirt against the cold. She was still in her underthings.

  His arms wrapped around her body and he curled around her. He tucked her head under his chin, her back to his front. He was warm and Cella was thankful. The tip of her nose told her the temperature was dropping outside, but her body was comfortable.

  “Sleep, Cella,” he commanded softly.

  She was sure she could feel a bulge in his groin against her backside, but she didn’t want to mention it. He seemed to fall asleep quickly, and Cella was so exhausted, she had followed immediately.

  Today, it was snowing.

  Heavy, wet, sticky snowflakes were falling out of a deep, dead-gray sky.

  The cold was the nasty, damp kind that settled deep inside, chilling bones and muscles to the point where Cella questioned whether they would ever be truly warm again.

  She rode with her cloak pulled close around her and the hood up.

  Arto told her that they would get to the home of the Lord of Anglesly today. Cella clung to that. She didn’t care if she stayed in the stable. As long as she was inside and dry, she would be happy.

  She shrank deeper into her hood.

  Then, all of a sudden, they were there.

  A bustling group of servants swirled around the travelling party. There was a liveried groom at Marta’s head and Arto helped Cella off her horse. A footman escorted them inside and her cloak disappeared. Lady Lovina, Marchioness of Anglesly, greeted her.

  Lady Lovina was a motherly woman who brushed aside Cella’s gratitude and apologies about her appearance and had her whisked off to a blissfully hot bath. Before she could say “thank you” she was up to her neck in steaming water and a servant was washing the horse smell out of her hair.

  Another maid came in and dumped a packet into the water and stirred. She added another bucket of near boiling water and the scent of herbs filled the air.

  “Lady Lovina says these will ease your muscles, my Lady,” the young woman said. “I’m sure I don’t know how you survived four days in the saddle, not having ridden much before.”

  “I didn’t survive, I’ve died, and this is heaven.” Cella’s voice sounded to her ears somewhere between croaky and breathy.

  The two maids giggled a little at that. They efficiently rinsed and combed her hair, and when she was sufficiently pruny, helped her out of the tub and dried her off. It was mid-afternoon and she was given a bite to eat and tucked into bed with a promise she would be awoken and dressed for dinner later.

  * * * *

  Arto entered the library of Marquess Anglesly. It wasn’t quite as full of books as his personal library, but it was comfortable and the fire was lit. There were several groupings of chairs and couches around the room. A writing desk for the use of guests stood in one corner. Through the large windows he could see the weather had not improved.

  He joined the Marquess and Marchioness at the fire and accepted a cup of coffee and a plate of tempting tidbits from the attending footman.

  Scrubbed and dressed in a clean tunic and breeches, he felt much more like a human being. Tors assured him that Lady Cella was being well looked after and would get some further rest before dinner.

  “I’m sure you have quite a story for us, your Grace,” Lady Lovina began amiably. “Lady Cella looks like death warmed over and you normally don’t treat your women in such a harsh fashion.”

  The lovely woman, old enough to be his mother, was seated on the sofa, her stitching in a frame in front of her. He watched her select a strand of wool and thread her needle.

  “Ah, yes. How are Lady Lyr and Lord Vigo?” Arto asked politely. Lyr, the daughter-in-law, had briefly been one of his lovers long ago. They had parted amicably, thank the God, and he knew she was happy in her marriage.

  “They are quite well. They left for Kerfaen a couple of weeks ago to spend the year-end at court.” Lord Hirt was ensconced opposite his wife, with his own coffee and a book by his side. “Frankly, I’m delighted to send them in our place.”

  “I can see why. Your home is very comfortable and I wish I could take you up on your invitation to hunt the woods.”

  Arto actually did wish he could dally here. He knew Lord Hirt and Lady Lovinia well enough to know they would be excellent hosts.

  “Lady Lovina, you have my deepest thanks for your care of Lady Cella.”

  “Oh, Duke Arto, so formal! As if we wouldn’t look after the poor girl!” Lady Lovina stitched away at her tapestry. “So, who is this young lady that you’re dragging across the kingdom?”

  Arto briefly recounted the events that brought he, Cella, and the rest of their party to Anglesly’s doorstep.

  “God and Goddess!” exclaimed Hirt. “That’s a rough introduction to riding. You’ll stay a few days, I trust.”

  “I promised the King to have her to Kerfaen as quick as reasonably possible. With your permission, we’ll stay tomorrow and be off the day after.” Arto took a deep breath. “Lady Lovinia, could I ask your assistance with a few other matters?”

  “I’m sure you don’t even need to ask, but go ahead, your Grace.”

  “Lady Cella has only one riding habit. Is there anywhere we could get another for her on short notice? The village, perhaps?”

  Arto honestly didn’t have a clue how to get real clothing for the woman. Baubles and gifts, yes, but riding habits?

  “And she has no maid. Where would be the best place to look for one?”

  “Our daughter is at court with Vigo and Lyr. She has grown too tall for a few of her riding habits. I’m sure we can alter one or two of them to fit Lady Cella,” Lovina mused. “A maid is a bit harder. She would need one that has some experience and is willing to travel. Let me speak to our housekeeper and see if she knows of anyone suitable. We may not have much luck with that, your Grace.”

  “Anything you can do is much appreciated, Marchioness.” Arto felt some measure of relief that at least Cella would have a proper change of clothes.

  “So, Arto, tell me about the breeding stock you’ve purchased.” Hirt leaned toward Arto a little, his eyes keen. “There’s a few in th
at lot I wouldn’t mind for myself.”

  Arto chuckled and dived into all things horse with Lord Hirt, spending a pleasant afternoon discussing his favourite hobby.

  Later, in his room, Arto finished dressing for dinner.

  “Thank you, Tors,” he said emphatically to his man as he was about to set off downstairs. “And if I haven’t said it before, I thank you for your care of Lady Cella over the past few days.”

  “You’re most welcome, my Lord. She wasn’t too hard to look after.”

  “Lady Lovina said she would enquire about a maid for her. She doesn’t seem to hold out much hope, though.” Arto leaned his long body against the doorframe.

  “I hope you don’t mind, your Grace, but I enquired with the housekeeper.”

  At Arto’s nod, Tors continued with less hesitation.

  “There’s a housemaid here that has always been first drafted to care for any ladies that came without a maid. The housekeeper says she’s quite good and is looking to get on in the world. I’m inclined to trust the housekeeper, my Lord. I’ve briefly met the maid in question and she seems fairly steady.”

  Arto pursed his lips. “That almost seems too easy. Though I suppose we’re due for a break.” He turned to go downstairs, then paused. “I’m inclined to take this woman on, but I had better speak to Lady Lovina about it first. She may not want to let her go, and I’ll not spoil our welcome here over it.”

  “Aye, my Lord. I’ll keep quiet.”

  Arto made his way to Cella’s room, conveniently across the hall and two doors down from his. At his tap on the door, a maid answered and Cella came out, ready to go down to dinner.

  Arto let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She looked like the royal she was. The rest and care had done her a world of good. She had a little colour back in her cheeks and her blue eyes were no longer dull with pain and fatigue.

  Her hair had been swept up in some complicated fashion that always seemed to please women. A few curls were allowed to wander down her ivory neck. She wore a blue gown that emphasized her lovely hips and breasts without being obvious or revealing.

  The Duke was relieved to see her looking so healthy. She had said so little over the past days, he wondered what was going on under her blonde curls. He knew she was finding the journey difficult, but she didn’t whine or complain.

  Every night when he massaged her sore legs, he knew she just about cried.

  Under any other circumstance he would have found massaging her buttocks erotic and arousing. Instead, he just felt like gerto excrement for forcing her to ride every day.

  When he slept with her last night to keep her warm, he couldn’t help the erection brought on by her curvy body against his. He knew it was a normal, healthy reaction, but it made him feel even worse. The fact that he did want her in his bed at some point didn’t help.

  “You look beautiful,” he complimented his little sola as he held out his arm for her.

  “Thank you, your Grace.” She laid her small hand on his forearm and they went downstairs.

  The dinner was a relatively small affair. The Marquess and Marchioness were there, of course, as well as Cella, Arto, and Sir Rorec and Sir Gyl, both Knights under Arto’s command and on this journey with him.

  Lady Lovina made the occasion informal with a buffet and asked her guests to ignore the table of precedence seating. Dinner was lively with Rorec, Gyl, and Hirt recounting hunting stories that made the rest of the party laugh.

  Afterward, they all retired to the library, where Lady Lovina sat with her sewing and pulled Cella into conversation.

  “I’m so glad Duke Arto brought you to visit us, Lady Cella,” the Marchioness began warmly. “Not only is it lovely to meet you, I’m glad you’ve a real bed to sleep in tonight. It’s awful having to go days sleeping on the ground and not having a bath. And you not riding regularly! Your poor legs, it’s a wonder you can walk.”

  “I will be fine, Lady Lovina. In fact, the Duke is to be commended for his kindness and patience. Marta is a lovely horse and good for an inexperienced rider like me.” Cella sounded like she actually liked the mare.

  Arto was a little surprised.

  “The Lady Cella has just been confirmed as a Master Enchantress, so she has found little time for riding recently,” Arto said as he handed Cella a glass of wine and sat down himself.

  “How wonderful! Yet you’re so young,” Lady Lovina mused. “You must be quite talented.”

  Cella studied the goblet in her hand. “I have been fortunate to be blessed with some talent, and I was sent to the Guild quite early in life.” She looked up and smiled at her companions. “Do you need anything re-enchanted while I am here? I would be happy to repay your kindness in any way needed.”

  Lady Lovina’s mouth opened a little in surprise. “Well, what a kind offer, my dear. I will see if we have need of your services.”

  “Ascar told me you’ve a reputation for creating new enchantments. Is there anything you’re working on that you would share with us?” Arto was genuinely curious about her experiments with kerfios.

  Kerfios was the name of the magical force in the land. Some people were gifted with the ability to use it. The gift was seemingly randomly bestowed, nobles and low born alike could be endowed with the ability. Though it had a tendency to run in families, there was no guarantee that children of kerfios users would be graced with the talent.

  Use of kerfios was broadly divided into three areas. Abilities tended toward healing, enchanting, or being a mage. Generally, the stronger a person was in one area, the weaker they were in others. Arto’s sister-in-law, Lady Aenid, was a very powerful healer, but she could barely light a candle with a mage spell. Arto suspected that Cella was a powerful enchantress, but likely could not use spells or heal.

  “Well.” Cella continued to fiddle with her wine glass, tapping the edge with her finger. “I have been developing a sort of shield. I thought I might be able to produce a magical force shield around a person so they couldn’t get hurt.”

  “Interesting idea.” Arto’s head tilted to one side, studying her. “So, would it be something like armour in battle?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t got too far with it yet. It seems…complex. The material has to be strong enough to hold the spell, as you know, and this seems to need something very strong. The weaving of kerfios is proving to be delicate and intricate. And exhausting.”

  “So you’ve made something?” Arto was quite curious now.

  Cella nodded. “I could show you,” she said hesitantly.

  “My goodness,” Lady Lovina interjected, “that would be very interesting.” She put down her sewing and looked expectantly at Cella.

  “Please excuse me then. I need to go get the piece. It’s in my bags.” Cella stood as Lady Lovina waved her permission. She returned quickly with a something in her hand.

  She went to the writing desk and retrieved a long piece of sealing wax and a pen nib. She set the wax on the table in front of the fire so it was standing tall. She placed the pen nib beside it. By now the entire party was gathered around looking at her.

  Cella’s eyes flicked to Arto, the Marchioness, and around the rest of the party. She cleared her throat and opened her hand, revealing what appeared to be a black broach. There was a pale green stone in the centre and a complex filigree-type pattern surrounding it.

  “What is that made of, Lady Cella?” asked Sir Rorec.

  “It’s iron. That seems to be strong enough to hold the spell.” She placed it atop the sealing wax, ensuring it was properly balanced, then touched the green stone and whispered a word. A very faint haze seemed to surround the wax in a dome. After a moment, the haze wasn’t visible.

  “Go ahead. Try to pick up the pen nib,” she challenged the group.

  Arto was the first to try, and fail. He tried to knock the entire thing over and couldn’t do that either. Each of the party tried and failed.

  “That’s incredible,” said Hirt in wonder. “What wo
uld happen if we turned the entire table over?”

  “Nothing,” replied Cella in her quiet voice. “I’ve managed to make it strong enough that you would break the table before the shield would break. I’ve, er, managed to do that in my workspace already.”

  “I’m half tempted to try it, but I don’t want to have to repair the table,” he joked.

  Chuckles sounded from those present.

  “Don’t be too amazed yet,” cautioned Cella. “This is as large as I’ve been able to make it, which isn’t very useful right now. There aren’t too many pen nibs that need this much protection,” she noted wryly. “I think there are some other modifications I need to make as well. It will take a great deal more work to see if this is truly something that can be useful.”

  She touched the green stone again and the haziness dissipated. Cella returned the wax and pen nib to the desk and set the broach on the table beside her.

  Arto had grown to think there was much more to Cella over the past few days, and this certainly confirmed it.

  She was powerful, an innovative thinker and, when she was a little less self-conscious, had a dry sense of humour he liked. That was quite an enticing package when added to her lovely curves and pale beauty.

  When she was adapted to the travel and not so sore and exhausted at the end of each day, he would be showing her exactly how enticing her found her.

  Talk gradually turned to more mundane items, such as when the snow would stop and if they were in for a long winter or not.

  Arto listened and devoutly hoped those that thought the snow would be gone tomorrow were right, for the sake of his lovely charge.

  Chapter 6

  “No!” Cella cried, her stomach doing a strange twist and plummet at Arto’s suggestion.

  “Please trust me, Cella. It won’t be long and it will make things easier for you tomorrow.” Arto had a stubborn, yet somehow sympathetic expression on his face.