Twilight Magic (32 page)

Authors: Shari Anton

Tags: #FIC027050

BOOK: Twilight Magic

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Nicole deeply breathed in the familiar scents of woolen robes hanging on their pegs, and of the burning night candle near the doorway. A glance over the cots revealed she hadn’t disturbed the nuns who would soon rise for matins and begin yet another day of prayer, meditation, and service in God’s name.

For eight years Bledloe Abbey had been her home, these nuns her gentle companions and patient teachers. William wanted her to leave them behind. For where? To do what?

Silence reigned.

Calmer now, but knowing she wouldn’t go back to sleep, Nicole silently rose and slipped on her black robe over the linen chemise that protected her skin from the prickly wool. With her bedding straightened, hose and boots in hand, she padded her way to the infirmary where she knew Mother Abbess would be awake.

Mother Abbess rarely slept these days, too aware the heavenly reward she’d spent her life working toward was about to become reality.

Soon now, dear, soon!

This voice, too, came from beyond the grave. Sister Enid’s soft, excited greeting as Nicole entered the herb-scented, tranquil infirmary made her smile.

Sister Enid had left mortal life behind a few days after Beltane. In life, the nun had considered the care of Mother Abbess her life’s work, and so her spirit lingered to see her duty completed. The two old and dear friends would pass through the veil between this life and the next together.

Would that William would pass through that veil, find peace, and cease pestering her with orders she refused to obey. She’d done so once, the first time William had spoken to her, taking advantage of her youth and grief over his death. Nicole thanked the Lord every day that she hadn’t possessed the skill or strength to murder her now brother-by-marriage, Alberic, and that he’d long since forgiven her for trying to stab him with William’s dagger.

And now William wanted her to leave Bledloe Abbey, for no other purpose than his selfish, unwarranted need for revenge against Alberic, no doubt. Nicole lowered onto the stool beside Mother Abbess’s cot, resolved to ignore her brother’s latest command, just as she’d ignored so many of his other demands.

“What brings you here so early?” Mother Abbess asked, the clarity of her voice belying both her advanced age and failing health.

As Sister Enid said, Mother Abbess would soon die. Still, the abbess looked no different this morn than she had last eve—frail and withered, her thin hair as white as fresh snow. In her gnarled hands she held prayer beads worn from years of use. Her green eyes, however, still often saw too much.

To hide the full truth, Nicole bent over to put on her black short hose and boots.

“I woke and did not wish to disturb the others. So I came to see how you fare.”

“Harrumph. We must usually pull you from your cot of a morn. What spoils your slumber?”

Nicole smiled. “Perhaps I have at long last become accustomed to waking before the bell is rung.”

Mother Abbess chuckled at the lie. “When sheep take wing.” Then she sobered. “What ails you, child?”

Nicole grappled for something troublesome the old nun might accept in answer, and easily found one that had floated in and out of her thoughts for several days now.

“Prince Eustace’s death, and how his loss will affect King Stephen and the war.”

Mother Abbess’s fingers slid from one bead to the next, seeking solace and wisdom in the prayer that had sustained her all her life.

“You fear King Stephen may now remember you are here.”

Bluntly put. Apparently, Mother Abbess also had been mulling what possible actions the king could take upon the loss of his heir. Nicole didn’t care if Stephen eventually lost his throne or not, but as his ward, she cared very much whether or not he would use her in an attempt to gain a desired alliance.

“I cannot say I am of a mind to marry a Welsh prince.” “You have always known the day might come. You also know how to avoid the king’s machinations.”

Nicole fingered the ends of her brown, waist-length braid. She could cut her hair short, cover it with a veil, and utter vows. She recoiled as she always did when she considered becoming a nun and spending her entire life in Bledloe Abbey.

“You well know I have no calling to the Lord’s service. ’Twould be no less than I deserved if God struck me deaf and blind the moment I uttered insincere vows.”

“Then perhaps you should consult your sisters. They would come if you summoned them.”

Emma and Gwendolyn would certainly make every effort, but they had husbands and children and estates to care for. And certes, at ten and eight, Nicole felt she shouldn’t burden her beloved sisters if she could work out her problems on her own.

And, certes, no problem yet existed. King Stephen hadn’t yet decreed whom she should marry. Worrying over it would do her no good, and Nicole wanted no distractions from what she saw as her immediate and more important task. Caring for Mother Abbess.

“I will consult Emma and Gwendolyn when the proper time comes,” she said, more to ease the furrows on the abbess’s brow than to quell her own misgivings. “Are you in pain? Need you a potion?”

“These old bones ache from disuse, but the pain reminds me there is life inside me yet. Go ready for prayer. The bell will ring soon.”

Though she preferred to remain in the infirmary, brewing potions and mixing unguents, she would attend morning prayers, if only out of love for Mother Abbess.

Nicole rose from the stool and kissed her friend and mentor’s thin-skinned forehead, wondering if she should tell the abbess of the joyous reunion with Sister Enid awaiting her on the other side of life.

She would, she decided, but not until the very end when the abbess had no time left for questions and lectures.

Sister Enid, Nicole was sure, would let her know when that time was upon them.

“I will bring your morning repast after matins. Is there aught particular you would like?”

Another shift of fingers, another bead to hold between thumb and forefinger. Another prayer offered up to some good purpose.

“Nay. My hunger now is not for victuals. Ask the sisters to pray that I might see our Lord’s face sooner than later.”

The abbess had thoroughly accepted her impending death. Nicole wasn’t in that much of a hurry.

“I will do no such thing. Our Lord will take you when He wills and not a moment before. Have pity on those of us you leave behind, dearest Abbess. We shall be like lost ships in a storm-tossed sea without you to guide us home.”

The nun chuckled. “Oh, life will continue without me, and each of you will find your way.”

“Rudderless, wind-deprived, becalmed ships, I tell you.”

Mother Abbess’s hand rose, and Nicole took the hand that had gently but firmly guided a headstrong girl into womanhood.

“The way is never easy, Nicole de Leon. Remember this. When times seem the most confusing, point your bow to either sunrise or sunset and follow your heart.”

Appealing images—in opposite directions.

And neither course guaranteed a welcoming shoreline or safe haven.

THE DISH

Where authors give you the inside scoop!

From the desks of Shari Anton and Paula Quinn

Dear Readers:

From intimate visions to dancing warriors to King Arthur, Shari Anton and Paula Quinn dish in this author-to-author interview.

Shari Anton
: Paula, how nice to see your
LORD OF SEDUCTION
(on sale now) on the bookstore shelves with my
TWILIGHT MAGIC
(on sale now) this December! Double the medieval fun! You really must tell me about your story.

Paula Quinn
: Well, Shari, Tanon Risande is a prim and proper lady of the realm. Her predictable little world is turned upside down with the arrival of a fierce Welsh prince, Gareth ab Owain, who has come to claim her as his bride. Tanon has no intention of submitting to such a rough warrior, but Gareth is determined to prove to her that he is no savage. He will use far more persuasive methods to lure this lady willingly into his arms . . . and into his bed.

Is your couple as seemingly mismatched as mine?

Shari Anton
: Of course! Lady Emma de Leon is about to present a petition to King Stephen when Darian of Bruges is accused of murder. She recognizes Darian as the man she once saw in a very intimate vision, so she’s compelled to save him by giving him an alibi, claiming they spent the previous night together. The king then insists they marry. Emma had planned on the bedding, but not the wedding, especially to an ungrateful Flemish mercenary who wants no wife! The last thing Darian wants is to be the man of Emma’s dreams, but ignoring Emma’s charms and rebuffing her advances prove futile.

Prince Gareth sounds like a true
LORD OF SEDUCTION
! What aspect of him will intrigue readers most?

Paula Quinn
: My favorite thing about Gareth is that he learned to fight by dancing. Yes, this warrior dances like nobody’s business! I also love that he goes barefoot and wears torcs. There’s something very feral about it. He’s extremely confident without being arrogant (although Tanon would disagree).

You’ve added a paranormal element to
TWILIGHT MAGIC
. How fascinating that Emma has visions!

Shari Anton
: Poor Emma doesn’t like having them. Lucky for my story Emma saw Darian in a vision before she learned how to halt them! And scattered throughout my Magic trilogy is the legend of King Arthur.

So between us we have Norman ladies, a Welsh prince, a Flemish mercenary, torcs and dancing, visions and intrigue. Wow! I’d say Warner Forever readers are in for a real treat this month.

Paula Quinn
: Agreed!

Sincerely,