Twilight Magic (22 page)

And Rose would still be alive. Sweet mercy, she couldn’t bring herself to say the hound’s name aloud.

Darian eased down onto the dirt floor at her feet and leaned against the grain sack next to hers.

“Perhaps, but your visions frighten and confuse you, so you halt them. If you choose not to allow the visions, then you must trust to fate like the rest of us.”

Like normal people.

“They are a curse.”

“Or a blessing. Or simply part of who you are. Your head punishes you each time you deny a vision, and you have decided the pain is preferable to the confusion. Each of us decides what we can or cannot endure.”

Her spine stiffened. “So you think I am wrong to foreswear the visions?”

“I would not presume.”

The devil he wouldn’t.

“At Hadone, if I had told you that you and I and... Rose would be attacked by Bishop Henry’s soldiers on the road to Oxford, would you have believed me?”

“Perhaps not then, but when we were in London, had you told me you foresaw trouble along the Oxford road, I might have heeded the warning. Taken another road, or left earlier.” He tossed a dismissive hand. “This is all conjecture, Emma. We will never know what might have been, only what is.”

“But you blame me—”

“No more than I blame myself. Had I not let you sleep, or had we ridden later, or had I not stopped precisely where I did, or had Rose heard the soldiers sooner. There are far too many things I could have done differently for me to place any blame on you.”

His sincerity rang true, and though her guilt didn’t completely disappear, she was glad to know he didn’t hold the hound’s death against her.

But what truly astounded her was his attitude toward her visions. Besides her mother, she’d told no other soul out of fear of becoming an outcast, reviled and avoided.

She’d certainly learned how to contend with contempt at court and at Hadone when shunned for no other reason than she was her father’s daughter.

She’d endured through the worst because of Lady Julia de Vere’s unexpected and welcome friendship. And since, she’d sailed swiftly through two headaches because of Darian’s tender care.

Or perhaps she’d become a stronger, more confident person since leaving home. Sweet mercy, she would like to believe so.

She’d never questioned Darian’s confidence in his abilities. The man always seemed so sure of himself— until now. That he had doubts proved unsettling.

“You were not even sure the man who inquired about purchasing your horse was one of Bishop Henry’s men, so could not have known so many would be on us so quickly. You did what you thought best, and I, for one, cannot hold that against you.”

He rocked his head from side to side, as if easing tension from his neck. “Would that there were no Bishop Henry, or that he were not so set against mercenaries and for some reason against me in particular.”

Odd. That hadn’t been her impression at court.

“I did not realize your profession had aught to do with the bishop’s anger. I thought him upset because de Salis was a... clergyman, or associate, or even a friend.”

Darian snickered. “All knew de Salis was a hateful, evil terror of a man. I know of two villages where he and his men burned the huts, killed the men, raped the women, and maimed the children for sport. ’Twas Bishop Henry who ordered the fiend excommunicated several months ago.”

A vile man, indeed. And Emma heard echoes of Darian’s tale of his own family’s demise. A detestable, loathsome beast had been responsible for their deaths, too.

“So Bishop Henry should not have been aggrieved over de Salis’s death.”

Darian picked up a piece of hay and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger, his brow furrowing.

“Nay, he should not have been,” he commented, almost to himself. “The bishop agreed the kingdom would be best off without de Salis, but wanted God to choose the time of his death, not men.”

Emma knew he was merely thinking aloud, but this line of thought disturbed her.

“What men?”

He glanced up at her, then away. “I beg pardon, Emma. ’Tis naught of import.”

Deep in her bones she knew different.

“What men?”

“Better you do not know. The less involved you are, the less the danger.”

“Like this morning?” Becoming alarmed, she pressed on. “Darian, if those soldiers do manage to return to Bishop Henry, he will be after you all the more, and me also because I stood as your witness and thwarted his intent to see you hang! What is it you are not telling me?”

The hay stopped twirling. He bent it in twain. “The morning before de Salis was killed, the king gave the order for his assassination. If de Salis had not died that night, he would have sooner than later.”

Assassination!

The king had ordered someone to murder de Salis? “What man would agree to—”

Emma’s stomach flipped so hard she pressed her arms against it, wishing they’d stayed out in the pouring rain, kept riding until they reached Oxford, where they would have been too tired to do aught but sleep.

Sweet mercy, who better to send out to assassinate a troublesome villain than a mercenary? And what better mercenary than the one who sat quietly at her feet, crushing a piece of hay?

“You?”

He tossed the hay aside.

“Aye,” he said, confirming her suspicion. “That is what I do, Emma. I execute the worst of the worst. Quickly and cleanly, with no one the wiser, sometimes not even my victim. Most simply vanish without a soul as witness. Had I killed de Salis, his body would not have been found, nor would I have been so witless to leave behind my dagger. Bishop Henry knows this, yet he accused me before the king and others.”

And she’d stepped into the muddle, believing Darian guiltless—among other reasons. Ye gods. At least she’d been right to believe his plea of innocence. He hadn’t killed de Salis, but he would have obeyed the king’s order, as he’d apparently done in the past.

How dare the king and bishop turn on the man to whom they’d given such appalling duty!

“You were betrayed! The very men who ordered you to assassinate de Salis accused you of doing the very thing they had ordered! Perhaps you should change allegiance, Darian. Empress Maud would not force you to accept such dreadful duty.”

He stared up at her, then said with a sad smile, “Only you.”

“What?”

He rose, took a swipe at the dust on his arse, then crossed his arms. “I assure you the empress has her own assassins, so she has no need of me. Nor does anyone force me to be an assassin. I believe some men deserve death and am most pleased to send them to hell.”

Horrified, she had no answer.

“You need not fear me, Emma, unless you have maimed a child of late.”

Absurdly, she shook her head.

“I thought not.”

He grabbed a nearby bucket and strode out of the barn into the pouring rain.

Emma groaned and hung her head. This couldn’t be happening. The Darian she knew couldn’t be that hard-hearted and brutal. True, he’d proved this morn he could be ruthless in battle. But he’d been fighting men who’d attacked them, defending himself and her, not mercilessly killing someone because it pleased him to send a man, however deserving, to hell.

What had happened to the sometimes humorous, oftentimes restless and annoying, but most times patient and kind man she’d come to know? Where was the gentle, considerate lover?

How could two so different men occupy the same body?

The gloriously smiling lover in her vision turned out to be a cold-blooded assassin. If ever she’d needed proof that her visions were devil-sent, this was it.

Chapter Sixteen

N
ice place,” Darian commented.

Sitting on a bench in Mother Abbess’s small but nicely appointed office, hands clasped on her lap to keep from fretting, Emma looked up at where Darian stood by the open-shuttered window overlooking the yard below.

Today, he seemed no different than the Darian of Bruges she’d come to know before learning about Darian the assassin.

She’d pondered his revelation most of last eve and into the night, up in the hayloft, where she’d slept alone. She’d both condemned and excused him, and still wasn’t sure of her feelings on his profession.

This morn, as they’d ridden toward Oxford, her preoccupation with Darian had given over to her concern for Nicole.

Darian didn’t need her, Nicole might, and Emma hoped that at long last she could do right by someone.

“The abbey does seem nice, though not quite what I expected,” she admitted.

“You have never been here?”

“When Gwendolyn and I were asked to choose an abbey for Nicole, we chose Bledloe because Mother Abbess has a reputation for merciful firmness.”

“You knew nothing else of the abbey?”

“Only that it was south of Oxford. Sedwick, Camelen’s steward, escorted Nicole here, and he told Gwen he thought we had made a wise decision, so that eased our minds a bit.”

So had Nicole’s first letter. In later missives, though, both Emma and Gwen had noticed the same oddity—a decided lack of spirit and resignation to a fate she’d once railed against.

“What did you expect?” he asked.

“The only abbeys I had ever seen were Westminster and Shrewsbury. I imagined all abbeys as huge, imposing edifices of stone.”

Built of wood, Bledloe Abbey was neither dark nor dreary. High, elegant arches graced the passageway they’d been ushered through, and round-topped windows of clear glass allowed in light. From the moment she’d stepped through the doorway, she sensed serenity, a place where the world of men and their sinful behavior and wars dare not intrude.

Emma wished for a bit more serenity now, but knew she wouldn’t relax until Mother Abbess, who’d been very kind, returned with Nicole. Unable to sit any longer, Emma rose and walked over to stand at the window next to Darian.

Only a day ago, she’d thrown herself in his arms, sobbing unceasingly, seeking comfort from overbearing distress. Today, she was merely impatient, a bit nervous, and too confused to obtain assurance in her husband’s embrace.

Besides, to have the abbess and Nicole walk in and find her and Darian in each other’s arms amounted to inexcusably inappropriate behavior in an abbey full of innocent, celibate women.

Hurried footsteps and a child’s excited voice alerted Emma her wait was almost over. Nicole burst into the room, a huge grin lighting her face.

She has grown! How can that be?
“Emma! You came so soon!”

With tears in her eyes, Emma opened her arms in time to catch her little sister on a leap.

Hugs and kisses ensued, and though she could hear Darian chuckle, Emma paid him no heed. Let him laugh. She had Nicole to hug and exclaim over, and for a time her world seemed without care or woe, only joy.

Emma finally let the girl go to hold her out at arm’s length to get a good look at her.

Garbed in a black robe in the style of the nuns, her uncovered dark hair shiny and pulled back in a braid, Nicole looked older, if not wiser.

“Oh, dear, you have grown,” Emma moaned the observation, eliciting light laughter from both Nicole and the abbess.

“I have. Sister Amelia had to let down the hem of my robe a fortnight ago.” Then Nicole frowned and waved a hand toward the stain on Emma’s bliaut. “But what of this? And your hands are raw. Are you hurt?”

“Nay. We had a mishap on the road, is all. Naught for you to worry over.” Emma finally remembered her manners. “Nicole, I should like you to meet Darian of Bruges. ’Twas his friend Philip who delivered my letter to you.”

Nicole dipped into a curtsy, and to Emma’s amazement, Darian smiled politely and executed a bow worthy of a courtier.

“I am pleased to finally meet you, Nicole. Your sister has talked of nothing but you the entire way.”

“Is it your blood on Emma’s gown?”

Darian glanced down at the white bandaging he hadn’t removed from his arm. “A bit, perhaps, but as she said, our injuries are slight and of no consequence.”

The round-faced Mother Abbess stepped forward. “Lady Emma, I know you wish time alone with Nicole, and I am sure she wants to show you the cloister and kitchen garden.”

“Oh, aye! May I, Mother Abbess?”

“Certes. I shall even excuse you from afternoon prayers—this once only.”

“My thanks. Come, Emma. We have a truly lovely garden.”

“I am sure you do,” Emma said, ruffling the girl’s hair before asking Darian, “Coming?”

His polite smile remained in place, but Emma detected a slight stiffening.

“Truth to tell, I was about to ask a boon of Mother Abbess,” he declared. “Lady Emma has waited long for this visit with her sister, and our travels have not been without hardship. She is in need of rest and would enjoy spending Michaelmas with Nicole. If it is agreeable, I should like to leave her in your care for a few days.”

Stunned, Emma could only stare at him.

She’d imagined this visit as no more than a few hours and then...Sweet mercy, she’d never given a thought to afterward. To where she would go. Whether with or without Darian.

“Her Ladyship is most welcome to stay,” the abbess answered. “We have humble guest chambers, where I am sure she would be most comfortable. She and Nicole can spend time together, and I would dearly love to visit with her, too.”

“Well, then, I shall leave you to get on with it. Fare thee well, ladies.”

Oh, no. He wasn’t getting out the door without some explanation of why he intended to leave her here—and for how long he considered a
few
days.

She stepped into his path of retreat. “Where are you going?”

“Wallingford. I will be gone four days, five at most.” She took the last to mean he intended to come back for her within a reasonable time. Relief threatened to weaken her knees as she acknowledged she’d feared he might not come back for her at all.

Nor should she be surprised he would take this opportunity to see Earl William and his fellow mercenaries. He could easily make Wallingford within a few hours.

Except he could have given her warning.

“I see. I shall look for your return in four days, then.” His stiff smile eased somewhat. “Perhaps five. Have a nice visit, my lady.”