WHAT happened last night? Hugh shook his head. The images of his dream persisted, as vivid and tangible as if he lived them again. He could even smell the damp earth, burning sulfur, and the blood within the cave.
He thought he’d buried that memory so deeply even God couldn’t find it.
Groggily he made his way into the courtyard and the corner well house. A few splashes of very cold water raised goose bumps on his arms and banished the memories from the realm of reality back to nebulous dream quality.
Ever since he’d confronted the burning ruin of Mendip Mor, he’d been seeing things, hearing things, now remembering things best left alone.
What was happening to him? None of this had anything to do with the practical business of everyday life.
The only difference in his life was Ana. Beautiful, vulnerable Ana, who needed protection and guidance, and probably a severe reminder of court etiquette.
Rumors surrounded the Griffin clan with witchcraft. Never anything truly sinister, like his memory of Radburn Blakely in the cave—he quickly banished those images—but things like their strange affinity with animals.
That dog, Newynog, seemed almost human. Ana communicated with it on a level more intimate than normal mistress and pet. And the high-strung gelding she’d commandeered outside of Wells. That beast had needed a tight rein and steady balance. Hugh didn’t think she had the physical strength to manage the beast, but it obeyed her slightest whim easily. She’d even scratched Orage’s ears without losing a hand.
His emotions as well as his sensibilities had been in upheaval ever since he carried her out of the fiery cellar. He had no doubt that Ana could manipulate him as easily as she did her dog. He cringed at the possibilities.
Enough dithering. He had never retreated from a fight before. He wouldn’t start now. Blakely was the enemy, not Ana, not his Ana. He needed to talk with her, now, before the crowded manor came to life and King John made demands upon them both.
A single female voice chanted a morning hymn in the garden. Who else but Ana would be up and singing at this hour? Though he’d thought her exhausted by the late night disruptions and restless dreaming.
He wended his way around the outbuildings and the dawn bustle toward the voice.
Dew caressed the spring flowers bursting from their buds. Sunlight glistened on the drops of moisture, bathing the walled square in misty rainbows and shimmering otherworldly colors.
Hugh paused at the gate, drinking in the sense of peace here. A few brightly colored insects flitted from flower stalk to tree branch.
Ana knelt in the exact center of a circle of silvery herb plants. Her purple gown spread around her like an uncut amethyst. Radburn Blakely stood before her. Gently the sorcerer cradled Ana’s face in his hands and kissed her forehead.
The insects disappeared with an audible pop.
Heat and pressure shifted in Hugh’s ears.
“How dare you?” He raised his fist to Blakely and charged forward.
“You question my attention to my betrothed?” Blakely raised one blond eyebrow in amused query.
“Betrothed? Ana, you never said anything about a betrothal....”
“You never asked.”
o0o
What else could I say? I was trapped. Trapped by promises made by men who thought only of their own political gain and nothing of my welfare. Marriage to Radburn Blakely?
How could Uncle Henry have agreed to such a match? He must have known that the king’s half brother was the Black One of legend. He must have known!
Or did he? Blakely had said the vows were said by proxy. Perhaps he had never met Radburn Blakely to know him for the man who had invaded Kirkenwood all those years ago.
I clung to that possibility rather than dwell on the thought that Uncle Henry had deliberately bound me to this evil man.
My betrothal in return for his release from prison. Why had Blakely and King John waited eight years for the agreement? Young girls were often betrothed shortly after birth. They need not have waited for me to grow to marriageable age and beyond.
Why did they wait?
Because I had eluded their pursuit. Time and again I had fled from one convent to another, mere steps ahead of my black-clad pursuers. Blakely had sought another way to gain possession of me and Kirkenwood. He needed my cooperation to find the cache of secrets.
I could not allow him to take possession of me or my secrets. I had to defeat him with magic or not at all.
How? Uncle Henry had barely had time to train me before he sent me fleeing once more. Had he discovered the truth about my betrothed?
I could learn magic from Blakely, glean all of his secrets from his mind, ferret out his weakness and then destroy him with his own weapons.
No. That would mean feigning belief in the rightness of his methods. I was not certain I could do that. I knew I would never willingly participate in his rituals of death and humiliation, of torture and depravity.
But to counter him, I needed knowledge. I had to get to Kirkenwood. Soon.
“I’m sorry, Hugh. The betrothal was made years ago, without my knowledge or approval. I only just now learned the name of my groom.” Shakily, I stood up. Blakely offered me his hand. I ignored it, keeping my eyes on Sir Hugh, putting all of my bleak emotions into my eyes.
Please understand. Please accept this role of complaisance I must play, I pleaded with him with every bit of magical gift in me.
His mind remained closed to me.
Suddenly I missed the incredible intimacy of those quiet moments in the dark as we held hands and fought his nightmare memories and my dreams of portent together.
“With an Interdict in place and King John not likely to compromise with Rome, you must wait for both the marriage and consummation.” Hugh’s voice sounded absolutely flat. He turned on his heel to exit the garden.
He didn’t retreat.
He exited.
“We English do have the ancient and honorable custom of a common law marriage,” Blakely countered.
I detected a hint of defensiveness in his tone. He needed this marriage now. Why?
“Doubtless many couples will follow that custom if King John and the Pope Innocent III do not compromise soon,” I said. Trust me, Hugh, I pleaded with my mind. I do not go into this union willingly.
Hugh stopped abruptly, as if he’d heard me. He turned back to face Blakely. The two men continued to glare at each other with the kind of assessment I attributed to warriors preparing for battle.
“But among nobles, when titles and lands and fealty are in question, I doubt the barony, or the king will uphold such a union,” I continued.
A measure of hope brightened Hugh’s closed expression. Blakely’s eyes narrowed.
I wished I dared probe his thoughts. I’d never manage it without his knowledge.
“Then we will merely gain King John’s permission to cross the border into Scotland,” Blakely announced. He shifted his shoulders as if the matter were settled.
To get to Scotland we would have to travel close to Kirkenwood. Surely I could divert my path to my home. Once there I’d have access to the knowledge I needed.
I’d have allies, and if necessary, places to hide.
o0o
“We will hold court this morning,” King John said as Blakely, Sir Hugh, and I entered the Hall. He lolled in the large chair in the center of the dais, the only true chair in the household. His rich cotehardie looked crisp and clean. The silver circlet on his brow glinted in the morning sunlight streaming through the high windows. His eyes shone with vigor and enthusiasm.
“Your Highness,” Sir Nigel bowed low before the king, biting his lip. “We have no cases pending. All disputes go to the bishop. I hold these lands in fief to him.” The lord of the manor looked weary and slightly rumpled in comparison to his king. He and Lady Sigrid must have worked long into the night to accommodate the royal entourage.
“The bishop holds the honors of this land no longer!” King John bellowed. He leaped to his feet, dropping the scroll that had rested in his lap. The parchment bounced down the one step and rolled to my feet. I picked it up and held it idly at my side.
“You will make your obeisance to us. Now. This moment.” John’s face blotched red. Spittle foamed at the corner of his mouth. The blackness of his aura deepened.
Beside me, Radburn Blakely barely contained his laughter. His shoulders shook and his mouth worked to contain his mirth.
Hugh glared at him with disdain.
“Your reaction is inappropriate,” he said quietly from between clenched teeth.
“Oh, but it is appropriate,” Radburn whispered. “My brother is showing his temper. One of these days it will get the better of him. You’ll see. And when it does, we—you, me, all the rest of the barons—will be rid of him for once and all.”
Hugh stepped back, gasping his surprise.
Sir Nigel looked about him in indecision. I don’t think he’d heard the quiet conversation by the door. “My oath, Highness... ?” he asked, bewildered.
“We have recovered these honors from the bishop. Your oath to us, now, this moment, or forfeit everything!” John rested his hand on his hip where a sword might reside if he strode the field of battle instead of paced the dais of a small manor. He looked angry enough to execute Sir Nigel on the spot.
I remembered the rippled and twisted athame Radburn Blakely had used to murder a nameless woman in a cave many years before. Did he still carry it, still use it on John’s behalf? Or did he save it only for ritual slaughter?
The lord of the manor sank to his knees before King John, holding up his hands.
“I wish we had a priest here to interpret the ramifications of this Interdict,” I whispered, as much to myself as anyone. The scroll I had retrieved for John almost burned my fingers. I itched to read it.
“You’ll never get a straight answer from any priest. I spent ten years training to be one of them. Circuitous rhetoric is their favorite topic,” Radburn said. Chuckles still sparkled in his voice.
If I didn’t know the evil he was capable of, I might think him handsome and charming. But the black shadow surrounding him marred my perceptions. Only then did I notice that his other shadow, his servant, was missing.
Frantically I searched the gathering crowd for the nearly invisible man. He wasn’t here. Cautiously I reeled out my other senses, the ones I hoped to fully waken and hone, and sought Blakely’s servant.
Nothing. He seemed to have vanished. I nearly panicked, not knowing why the man’s presence was important.
“Gather ’round, all of you,” King John called loudly. He smiled brightly, his humor restored.
His chaotic mood shifts frightened me almost as much as his anger. Anger to bonhomie. Cold and calculating ruthlessness to blind destruction. What next? How quickly?
“All of you shall witness Sir Nigel’s oath of fealty and rejoice that he has joined our company,” John shouted.
Courtiers and servants arranged themselves in a semi-circle below the dais. Blakely dragged Hugh and me forward to stand slightly behind the king. Lady Sigrid knelt beside her husband.
John folded his hands over Sir Nigel’s.
“By the Lord before whom this sanctuary is holy,” Sir Nigel looked around as he recited the ritual words, momentarily at a loss because we did not observe this ceremony in the chapel, where we should. Then he sighed and continued, “I will to John be true and faithful, and love all which he loves and shun all which he shuns, according to the laws of God and the order of the world. Nor will I ever with will or action, through word or deed, do anything which is unpleasing to him, on condition that he will hold to me as I shall deserve it, and that he will perform everything as it was in our agreement when I submitted myself to him and chose his will,” Sir Nigel recited in a clear voice the ancient oath, beloved of barons in this land for centuries before the Normans came.
John replied less distinctly. I heard only that he promised to give aid to Sir Nigel, protect his widow and heirs should he die, and honor Sir Nigel’s rights as baron and landlord.
Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. Tension left my chest along with a long exhalation of air.
“Now what?” I whispered.
“Now we inform my brother of our intent to wed posthaste.” Radburn grabbed my hand and pulled me forward.
Hugh followed closely upon my heels. I sensed him fidgeting with his dagger.
“Not now,” I hissed to him, staring at the weapon on his hip.
“But...”
“I’ll think of something!”
“Think fast.” Hugh paused a moment. “Where’s Newynog?”
I searched for her, knowing that from the moment of her birth she and I would never be truly separated.
“Running,” I replied. For an instant we shared the wild freedom, the tongue-lolling joy of dashing across open fields in pursuit. Something tasted dark on the tip of our tongue. The phantom servant of Radburn Blakely. He rode away from the manor, pelting toward his goal. A mission drove him.
Suspicion sent me back into my single body and mind. Blakely had sent his servant on a mission. Stay with him, Newynog. We need to know.
“Sire, I have found my bride. I would marry her today,” Blakely stated without preface.
John smiled, showing his teeth. His pupils grew wide and his beard twitched around his mouth. Something about his half brother’s statement gave him joy.
“We are under Interdict,” Hugh reminded us all. “There can be no marriage.”
My heart swelled a little that he would continue to fight for me. He kept his promises.
“With your permission, Highness, I would take my bride to Scotland and marry her there. ’Tis my right. You promised me this marriage.” Blakely persisted with his arguments.
King John searched the floor. A puzzled frown crossed his face. The scroll weighed heavily in my sleeve. I retrieved it and offered it to the king.
He smiled at me. For the first time I felt the warmth of his genuine pleasure. No plots. No deceptions. A glimmer of his true self, intelligent, charming, humor lightening his visage and his aura.
I had a chance to break Blakely’s control of him. A small chance if I could return home long enough to retrain myself.
Then the moment disappeared and my heart returned to its normal state of anxiety.
He unrolled the scroll.
“Unfortunately, Brother, we were in error in our promise.” That feral smile opened his mouth and showed his teeth. He still had most of them.
“What do you mean?” Blakely’s eyes narrowed. I felt his body grow chill beside me. The blackness in his aura that I could never totally ignore reached out to engulf both me and the king.
“When first you broached this matter to us in Worcester, we sent for this decree from the Chancery. It arrived not ten minutes ago.” John paused to read the lengthy missive. “Quite handy having all of our records in one building in London with a staff to search out what we need,” he added idly.
Tension among those of us on the dais thickened. Hugh edged closer to me. Blakely’s fingers hovered around his belt scrip—not his dagger. He must keep his magical equipment there, and he instinctively trusted his magic more than his mundane weapons. I saw no evidence of the vorpal blade he had used in his murder rituals. He must reserve that as an athame.
I crept closer to Hugh, despite Blakely’s crushing grip on my wrist. The heat of Hugh’s body welcomed me. He would keep me safe, not this black sorcerer.
“What does this antique scroll have to do with a lawful betrothal signed by you and the girl’s guardian?” Blakely asked.
“Our esteemed great grandfather, Henry I, bestowed upon the then Baron of Kirkenwood the right of succession to his honors. In this decree he made Kirkenwood independent of the monarchy. The honor was confirmed by our father, Henry II, and our brother Richard.” John allowed the scroll to roll closed with a snap.
“That has nothing to do with my betrothal!” Blakely’s voice rose in pitch and volume. The tips of his silver-blond hair quivered as his neck trembled in agitation. His grip on me tightened. I yelped, but no one paid me any attention. All eyes remained fixed upon the king.
“It has everything to do with your betrothal,” John replied. “Because Lady Resmiranda is now the fully independent Baroness of Kirkenwood. She has the right to decide her own future—with our permission, of course.”