Twilight Magic (8 page)

“Earl William decided he preferred no feathers in his meals, so we built a mews. On the morrow, pray go have a look. The earl spared no expense for his hawks and falcons.”

Gar’s pride said he approved.

At the edge of her vision, Emma caught sight of a lad with goblet and flagon in hand. The sound of more footsteps behind her meant her food had arrived and made her stomach growl.

To cover her noticeably loud appreciation for the upcoming meal, she continued the conversation. “I noticed the dogs by the hearth. Wolfhounds, are they not?”

Again more pride.

“They are. Great hunters, and excellent guard dogs, too. We turn them loose in the bailey at night. Since the darkness hampers their ability to tell friend from foe, everyone remains inside their quarters.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Keeps everyone in their place.”

Apparently Gar put great importance on keeping everyone in their place, which she’d already witnessed when the steward spoke to Darian. Was that why Darian took so long to come into the hall, because he didn’t want to deal with Gar?

One of the servants reached around her to serve the meal, and Emma looked down expecting to see a trencher. To her utter horror, there sat a washbasin, the water clear, the surface still and shining.

Caught off guard, Emma watched as her reflection wavered in the small but perilous pool of water. The water turned bloodred, and chilled her to the bone.

Terrified of what horrors might be revealed, Emma plunged her hands into the water basin and clamped her eyes shut. The entrancement broke, preventing the vision.

As always happened when she halted a vision, pain immediately pierced the base of her skull and spread swiftly upward and outward to encompass her entire head.

“My lady, is aught amiss?”

Emma couldn’t answer Maura, the pain too new and sharp to allow speech just yet.

Gar shouted an order at someone to fetch Darian, a hint of panic in his voice. As she took her hands from the water and placed fingers at her temples, she hoped everyone would just remain calm and Darian wouldn’t appear until the sharp pain subsided into the wretched ache with which she’d learned how to deal.

This wasn’t how she’d wanted to begin her stay at Hadone. Not with a headache that could force her to bed and darkness for several days. They would all think her weak, fragile, sickly.

Damn visions! Why must they make her life so miserable? What had she done to deserve their intrusion? Why was she so flawed?

On the verge of tears, Emma fought to control her emotions until the sharpness gave way to a throbbing ache. Careful not to look down at the washbasin, she opened her eyes to encounter Maura’s distressed concern.

Emma grasped hold of the first explanation for her distress that came to mind. “I beg your pardon, Maura, Gar. The journey must have been more trying than I thought. ’Tis merely a headache, but I think it best if I go up and lie down.”

“Want you aught to eat first?”

The thought of food churned her stomach. If she didn’t escape the hall soon, she might embarrass herself further.

“Nay, not now. Perhaps later.”

Eager to escape the stares of everyone in the hall, Emma rose from the bench. Too fast, too soon. She swayed.

Someone clasped her upper arms.

“I have you. Easy.”

Darian held her upright, his strong hands a counter to her dizziness. She leaned back for further relief and fell backward into his equally strong arms.

Chapter Six

D
arian’s arms enfolded her, and though revealing her weakness wasn’t wise, Emma couldn’t help but lean back and lay her head on his solid shoulder.

Within moments her dizziness began to slowly subside, an unusual but welcome treat. She credited her speed in halting the vision for the rare luxury. Too often the water held her captive for longer spells. The longer the entrancement, the more difficult to break it, the more painful the headache.

His heat seeped through her garments, warming her clear through, including places where she shouldn’t be affected when in the throes of a headache.

Darian held her firmly but gently, as if she were fragile. Emma knew she was as durable as steel, but then, even steel succumbed to fire. If she remained unmoving, pressed against Darian, she might never be cold again.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

She dare not speak the truth, fearing Darian would be horrified, think her possessed of demons and let go. Surely she’d fall, and she’d embarrassed herself enough for the nonce.

“Headache. Came on so swiftly.”

“Let us get you into a bed.”

Oh aye, let’s!

Ye gods! How could she have amorous thoughts
now
? The dizziness had eased, but her eyesight was still blurred and sensitive to light.

Maura came around the table. “This way. Up the stairs.”

Distrustful of her balance, but well aware she should lie down as soon as possible, she tried easing away from Darian. He held fast.

“I need to follow Maura,” she said.

“You are not steady enough for the stairs.”

She’d done far more than climb stairs when enduring the throbbing in her head.

“I can manage.”

He actually chuckled. “So you have told me before. Manage or not, you are not climbing those stairs.”

How he accomplished the feat Emma didn’t know, but next thing she realized, Darian had picked her up and, with her cradled in his arms, was heading for the stairway.

“Wrap your arms around my neck.”

She didn’t even think to disobey.

’Struth, she should be mortified. Pride demanded she protest his heavy-handed ordering her about and carrying her around. She did neither. That he lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather—and she knew her weight more likened to a boulder—astounded her to silence.

She hadn’t been carried since childhood, and even then not often. Her parents hadn’t believed in coddling, had insisted their children endure stoically whatever hardships came their way.

If this was spoiling, sweet mercy, she could too easily become accustomed to the spoiling.

Darian didn’t even breathe hard going up the stairs. Amazing. But more astounding was the scent she caught when he turned to head down the passageway.

Mingled with the scents of horse and leather and wool was an aroma that made her nose twitch. Not floral or herbal. Not sweet, but not sour. The dark, dusky scent hinted of something wild and dangerous. Of power and vigor.

Of Darian.

How odd his unique aroma, now intense in her nose and memory, didn’t set her stomach to churning as pungent scents sometimes did when she was in the grip of a headache.

Darian paused while Maura opened the bedchamber door and Emma shifted to whisper in his ear.

“Pray put me down. I give you my oath I will not fall.” He turned his head slightly, his intriguing hazel eyes narrowing.

“I do not like the look of your eyes. They shine strangely.”

Shine strangely? What might that mean? If her eyes had ever shone strangely on a headache’s onset, no one had mentioned it.

“Strange how?”

“Like pools of still, clear water.”

Pools of still, clear water were her enemy and she didn’t like the comparison.

“My eyes are brown. The water should be muddy.” He shook his head. “Clear and sharp, their color brilliant and shiny, as if you can see things no one else can.”

The observation veered too close to the truth for comfort. She turned her face into his shoulder to hide her eyes, so he could see no more, guess too much.

“Darian, you may put her down now.” Maura’s voice drifted into Emma’s hearing from some far-off place. “While you help her into bed, I will brew a potion of feverfew and willow bark.”

Emma knew whatever potion Maura brewed wouldn’t ease the pain, but she wasn’t about to stop Maura from leaving the bedchamber.

Darian slowly crossed the floor. Emma felt more than saw Maura rush out the door.

For the first time in her life, she was alone in a bed-chamber with a man, one she knew would become her lover. A wave of intense longing and need washed through her, her vision of him as clear as the day he’d first come to her.

Would he make love to her today? Now?

He halted by the bedside. “You are still in great pain?” His voice was low and husky. If she told him no, he might well climb into the bed with her. But the dull throb at the base of her skull warned her to resist the temptation, no matter that she tingled all over. She dare not trust the headache to go away anytime soon, not to flare into pain so agonizing it hurt to lay her head on a bolster.

“Not so great. You will recall I told you that you need not carry me.”

“So you said.” Her senses reeled when he unexpectedly kissed her forehead, his warm, full lips so soothing she nearly moaned aloud with pleasure. “No idea what brought on the headache?”

She knew exactly, but couldn’t tell him, so answered with the shrug of a shoulder, wishing he would kiss her again.

“Perhaps rest and the potion will cure you quickly.” “Perhaps.”

Except right now she wasn’t interested in any potion. With brazenness she hadn’t known herself capable of, Emma unclasped her hands from around his neck and cupped the sides of his face. “Some cures cannot be found in a brew of herbs.”

Then Darian’s eyes changed color, darkening with what could only be desire. So clearly did she see his want of her that she trembled.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward just before he granted her wish and kissed her again.

Oh, mercy, his lips were warm, and the pressure of his mouth wonderful. And just when those delightful tingles sparked with renewed fervor and her hopes of a bed partner began to rise, Darian broke the kiss and swiftly set her down on the bed.

“If we continue this folly, we may rip asunder all hope for an annulment,” he stated before spinning around and leaving the chamber.

Emma groaned and she snuggled into the bed, a spot low in her belly aflame and yearning.

Damn, her head hurt, but her thoughts weren’t as muddled as usual, and she clearly understood Darian’s comment. He might want her, but he also wanted an annulment. Apparently he believed not consummating the marriage the best way to go about it.

Lack of consummation wasn’t the only grounds for an annulment, and if her vision came true, it certainly wouldn’t be the reason for
their
annulment.

Of the several visions she’d suffered before learning to halt them as they formed, only three had come true: her brother’s fall from a horse, a fire in one of Camelen’s storage barns, and her mother’s death.

There were others, of places and events that as yet made no sense to her, but she assumed would appear in time. Like the set of tall oak doors with a huge, finely carved rose set into the center of each panel that had intrigued her for nigh on two years now, but hadn’t appeared as yet. ’Struth, she truly didn’t want to know what she’d been about to see in the bloody water in the washbasin. Some horrible event, no doubt.

She’d never purposely swayed events to suit her visions, until yester morn when she meddled in Darian’s affairs.

Darian might want her, but he was resisting. Would she ever see his glorious smile, ever experience the pleasure his kiss promised?

After that kiss, this was the one vision she
wanted
to come true.

Darian took another long swallow of ale to ease his dry throat. Gar had insisted on hearing why the earl had sent him to Hadone, and Maura had hung on his every word.

The tale hadn’t been complete, of course. No one at Hadone need know about the king’s giving the order for de Salis’s assassination, or the names of the informants he’d spent most of the night with, or how he now mistrusted his fellow mercenaries.

“So William sent us here to stay out of sight for a time. I expect I will hear news from him shortly.”

At least he hoped so. Being exiled to Hadone was bad enough. But being exiled with Emma—ye gods.

He should have taken Emma at her word and allowed her to walk up the stairs. From the moment he’d picked her up, his body had suffered the tortures of the damned. Wanting what it couldn’t have. Desiring the forbidden. He hadn’t been sweating from merely the exertion of carrying Emma up the stairs.

He shouldn’t have given in to her obvious invitation to kiss her. An extraordinary melding of mouths. He’d come frighteningly close to joining Emma in the bed. Only knowing she hurt had stopped him. Had she been well, they would likely be scuffling in the bed, limbs entangled—consummating the marriage neither of them had expected or wanted.

Gar shook his head like a father at a child who’d misbehaved. “So where were you that you could not produce witnesses?”

Darian almost didn’t answer. Gar’s attitude of superiority irked him, and keeping peace with Earl William’s steward might prove the most difficult part of staying at Hadone.

“Southwark. Bishop Henry would not have considered the men I was with trustworthy.”

“Out getting drunk with the cutthroats and thieves. Had you naught better to do?”

Those cutthroats and thieves sometimes provided useful information. Unfortunately, he’d learned nothing from Hubert or Gib that night to make what had followed worth the time or price of several tankards of bad ale.

“What I do on my own time is of concern only to me.” “Except when your heathen ways almost get you hanged.”

“I did not kill de Salis.”

“Then who did?”

He wished he knew. “Whoever stole my dagger, most likely.”

The hall grew quiet again. The hour was late, and servants, craftsmen, and laborers alike had taken to their pallets. He should have, too, but the ale had gone down smoothly while answering Maura and Gar’s questions. And parts of him were too restless to allow slumber.

To quiet those parts he needed a female. Problem was, the only female his parts yearned for was Emma. Not good.

“I do not understand,” Maura said. “Why would a lady damage her reputation for . . . someone she does not know?”

For the likes of you,
he heard.