Twilight Magic (2 page)

Lady Julia de Vere, the lovely niece of the earl of Oxford, had come to court years ago to serve as hostage for her uncle’s continued support of the king’s efforts to hold on to his crown. Though both Emma and Julia were prisoners of the crown—though held gently in the sumptuous prison of Westminster Palace and not the dreary White Tower—Julia de Vere was treated with utmost courtesy and respect by all and sundry. Emma didn’t know why Julia didn’t consider the traitor’s daughter little better than a leper. She was just grateful the woman deigned to be friendly.

She tried hard not to notice how favorably Julia’s blond hair compared to her own drab brown, or how much better Julia’s bliaut of sapphire silk, shot through with gold thread, fitted into the elegant surroundings than Emma’s well-made but now-faded green wool.

Emma accepted the difference in their position at court, even though she outranked the niece of an earl. Being the daughter of a Norman baron placed Emma within the ranks of the nobility, but being the daughter of a Welsh princess boosted her far over Julia. Her high birth was, perhaps, the reason she resided in the palace and not the Tower. However, no one at court felt inclined to acknowledge her station further.

Julia’s smile went far to lighten Emma’s mood. She took a seat on the bench, careful to spread her skirt to show it to the best advantage.

“How is your head today?” Julia asked. “You are sitting up and seem less pale.”

“Better. I appreciate your concern.”

“Four days is a long time to spend on pallet in a dark corner with a pounding head. I still contend you should allow a surgeon to examine you.”

Julia meant well, and Emma would heed the advice if she didn’t already know why the headaches occurred and what she could do to make them cease. However, she considered the cure worse than the agony. She willingly suffered the pain rather than allow cursed, devil-sent visions to overtake her as they had in her childhood. Since discovering how to both evade and fight off the visions, she’d done so—though not with complete success.

If she told Julia of the visions, her friend would be horrified, and Emma didn’t wish to lose Julia’s friendship. Best to change the subject, an easy task with Julia.

“The surgeon’s time would be wasted. How went your walk in the garden?”

“The flowers are fading. Michaelmas is but a fortnight away and with it will come harvest time’s chill. You should come with us on the morrow. Each day might be our last opportunity to take the boats into the pond and feed the swans. Were you able to make your request of the chamberlain’s clerk?”

Emma suppressed a shiver at the thought of spending the day by the pond and forced herself to continue. “Apparently the king is too busy today to attend to aught not concerning the war. Tomorrow as well. Perhaps I will have better luck the day after.”

Julia leaned closer. “I gather you did not offer to bed the clerk.”

“Sweet mercy, nay!” Emma said, though she’d been at court long enough not to be entirely shocked at Julia’s suggestion.

“Officious, pompous clerks must be bribed into granting favor, either with body or with coin,” Julia stated. “If you have not the coin, then spending a night or two in the clerk’s bed may soften him in your favor.”

Emma had already observed that Julia accepted the practice as a means of getting her way. Her uncle kept her well supplied with coin, but depending upon what she wanted and from whom she wanted it, Julia wasn’t above taking a man to her bed, or she sharing his. She was selective, though, in her bedmates and usually most discreet.

Indeed, taking a lover seemed common practice. Once the queen retired to her private bedchamber, a veritable parade ensued of men coming in and women going out of the solar. Emma had moved her pallet to a dark corner of the large chamber to avoid being stepped on or mistaken for another woman, as much as for a quiet place to endure her headaches.

“I refuse to offer up my virtue to so mean a little man. Nor do I have the coin to offer him. And nay, I shall not take your coin because I have no way to repay you. Allow me my pride.”

“Pride will not open the king’s door.”

Perhaps not, but to bed the clerk—well, not only did the pale little man not appeal to her, but even if she offered herself to him, she doubted he would accept. She wasn’t slender and pretty, as were most of the ladies who lived in the palace, and she would be mortified if she offered the clerk a tumble and he backed away in horror.

Besides, she already
knew
the man to whom she would give her virginity, and he certainly wasn’t one of the clerks, thank heaven above.

“Then I must find another way into the royal chambers. Perhaps I should slight the clerks and make my request of the chamberlain.”

“Tsk. The chamberlain is as hard to gain an audience with as the king. The clerks guard both zealously. ’Struth, Emma, you must somehow bribe one of the clerks or you will never gain a royal audience!”

Emma sighed inwardly. “There must be another way.” “Then you must find a means of entry quickly. I understand the king will be in residence for four more days before he returns to the field.”

Four days! Certes, the king couldn’t spend all four days in war council, could he?

Well, if she couldn’t go through the clerks, or appeal to the chamberlain above them, then she would have to go around them all. Make a direct assault on the royal chambers. Somehow get past the doorway’s guards.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have any effective weapons in her armory—save one. Bravado.

She would give the king today and tomorrow to meet with his counselors. Early on the morning after, she would be among the throng of courtiers, advisors, and attendants milling outside his chamber door, prepared to sneak, bluff, or push her way inside.

No matter if she lowered her standing at court—which was already so low she didn’t see how she could sink further—she would keep her oath to Nicole. Pride and honor, and her own peace of mind, demanded she do no less.

Darian of Bruges strode through the passageways of the royal residence beside William of Ypres, commander of the Flemish mercenaries, matching his stride to that of his shorter and rounder mentor.

He’d made this trek several times over the past years, and each time Darian felt amazement that he was allowed onto Westminster Palace’s grounds, much less into the royal chambers. Of course, there were people who would prefer that a man of his ilk not be allowed in the city of London, much less inside the palace.

Too bad.

King Stephen needed men like Darian if he hoped to win his war against the Empress Maud. Men willing to take risks, capable of accomplishing those tasks that men of refinement were reluctant to undertake. A mercenary skilled in warfare, willing to do whatever necessary to defeat an enemy.

His boot heels clicked against the highly polished plank floors, too loudly for a man accustomed to approaching others too quietly for them to hear before he struck. But then, this morn, his only task was to act as an added set of ears and eyes for his commander.

An easy task, but one few others could perform. Not only did William trust Darian’s keenly honed ability to assess his surroundings, but Darian was also a member of a carefully chosen band of mercenaries who knew William’s eyesight had begun to fail. King Stephen didn’t yet know of the mercenary commander’s difficulty, and William planned to keep the problem secret until it interfered with his ability to command troops in battle.

Darian hoped that time might not come for many years yet.

“Do you know why we have been summoned, or who else will be present?” Darian asked.

William shook his head. “The clerk did not say, though I would not be surprised to see Bishop Henry. He did not approve of the plan we decided upon yester noon and I fear he may have convinced the king to change his mind.”

Damnation! If the king changed his mind, then Darian wouldn’t be leaving London anytime soon, and Edward de Salis, a vile, evil man, would continue to ravage villages and maim and murder more innocents.

The son of a baron, Edward de Salis took advantage of the war’s upheaval to add coin to his coffers, uncaring who suffered from his endeavors. Though warned several times to cease, de Salis ignored the king’s orders in his pursuit of wealth.

The villain must be stopped. Yesterday, the king had finally given Darian the order to bring the villain to his knees, then send him to hell.

Unfortunately, one of the complaints often heard about King Stephen was his inability to withstand a convincing argument, and Henry, bishop of Winchester, the king’s brother, who hadn’t approved of King Stephen’s decision on de Salis, was quite adept at presenting convincing arguments.

“Bishop Henry might not feel so generous toward de Salis if his villages were being burned and his people harmed.”

“Too true. Do you see him?”

They were nearing their destination. Darian’s height proved useful as he glanced around at the men and women milling in front of the doors to the antechamber.

“Nay. Nor do I see any of the earls or other advisors present yester noon.”

A good sign. If Bishop Henry had, indeed, won King Stephen over, the bishop would surely be present to gloat.

“Perhaps they are already in the king’s chambers. Ah, the doors open.”

The huge oak doors swung wide. The crowd rushed forward to enter the antechamber. Pushing and shoving ensued, each person trying to gain advantage over their fellows. Their efforts would do them no good. Unless they’d been summoned by the king or paid the clerk a goodly sum beforehand, they would be forced to wait until the clerk deemed them worthy of entry into the royal presence.

One woman had apparently come to that conclusion. Garbed in a topaz-hued bliaut covering a white chemise, the softly rounded, dark-haired woman actually seemed hesitant to pass into the antechamber. Darian saw her nervousness in the flight of a hand over a gauzy veil that needed no smoothing, her uncertainty in the touch of a finger to the gold circlet that held her shimmering white veil in place. From behind her, he couldn’t see her face, but could well imagine the misgivings he might glimpse in her eyes.

When he found himself wondering what color the lady’s eyes might be, he pulled his attention back to where it belonged.

He and William edged forward at the back of the crowd, the king’s summons guaranteeing they would be among the first admitted to the king’s audience chamber. Which suited Darian immensely. He didn’t like crowds and found the air in the palace stifling. Better this audience was over quickly so he could get on with more important duties and not have to deal with personages of noble birth, most of whom couldn’t be bothered with anything other than their own petty concerns.

The lady in topaz bowed her head and positioned herself close behind two large men who shouldered their way through the middle of the crowd, doing her best to avoid notice by the guards on either side of the door. She slipped into the antechamber without challenge and Darian could almost feel her relief.

She’s not supposed to be here.

He admired the lady’s boldness, but knew her efforts were for naught. She may have sneaked past the first set of guards, but would never get past the clerk if she wasn’t on his list of those who would be allowed to speak with the king. And he highly doubted she was on the clerk’s list.

Her problem wasn’t his problem. There was nothing he could do to help her, even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.

Still, his curiosity prodded him to nudge William and ask softly, “The woman in topaz. Do you know who she is?”

William squinted. “Lady Emma de Leon. Have you heard her tale?”

He’d heard of the woman and her plight.

“Daughter of Sir Hugh de Leon, who had the misfortune of dying while fighting for Empress Maud. King Stephen’s ward. Barely tolerated at court.” As he was grudgingly tolerated. He brushed aside an unwanted pang of kinship. “Must a royal ward be on the clerk’s list for her to speak with the king?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Merely wondering.”

Thankfully, William accepted the explanation without comment because Darian truly couldn’t explain his curiosity over the king’s ward.

Lady Emma glanced furtively from side to side, likely looking for a place to hide, giving him brief glimpses of her profile.

He could see she was a young woman, possessed of creamy, unflawed skin. Her pert nose was offset by a strong jaw, a quality Darian found intriguing.

Though her flowing bliaut hid the exact proportions of her form, the width of her shoulders, the tuck of her waist, and the spread of her hips suggested all of her curves were nicely rounded and well endowed. The hands he’d admired when she’d smoothed her veil were graceful, and her movements might be furtive, but they weren’t clumsy.

Lady Emma might not be the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen, but she was certainly lovely and interesting enough for a man to give a second look.

Rather, for a nobleman to give a second look, not a mercenary.

To his chagrin, Darian still wanted to know the color of Lady Emma’s eyes, but he didn’t have the chance to inspect her more closely. Duty called. Darian followed William to the next doorway, this one guarded by an imperious clerk, as well as two burly soldiers.

The clerk bowed. “Earl William, you are expected.” Darian almost smiled at the clerk’s obeisance. Indeed, the king had granted William, a mercenary of noble birth, enough land, rights, and fees to hold the title of earl of Kent. Accustomed to becoming lost in William’s shorter shadow, Darian wasn’t surprised when the clerk didn’t acknowledge him, merely gave a hand signal to the guard to open the door.

Then the clerk glanced up, and a sly gleam within his eyes sent a shiver down Darian’s spine. Something was amiss.

He entered the inner chamber behind William, his senses alert. All seemed calm and normal enough. King Stephen sat in his ornate armed chair, the chamberlain standing beside him, their expressions giving nothing away.

No one else was in the room. Not even a servant. Still, Darian sensed a threat and for the life of him couldn’t figure out why the back of his neck tingled— until he heard shouts coming from the antechamber.