Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“Ahh.” Glyn moved her hands, and the mirror, catching the light from the fire, bounced flashes of brilliance against the thick stone walls. “You’ve had a change of heart. I thought you considered the baron some horrible terror from the north, the death of all of us or some such nonsense.” Before Morgana could respond, she added, “Well, I shouldn’t wonder. I guess. He’s…” Glyn paused, biting her lip as she searched for the right word.

“He’s what?” Morgana couldn’t help asking.

“He’s so … so powerful and strong. It’s hard to watch him suffer over the loss of his son.”

Morgana agreed, but she didn’t say so. This was a new side to Glyn, a side that noticed other people’s troubles, a side that pushed her own vanity and ambition aside. Glyn was actually concerned. A fine line of consternation developed between Glyn’s blond eyebrows, and though she still held the small mirror, she only played with the glass and didn’t bother to stare at her own reflection.

“I’ve been praying for him, you know,” Glyn admitted, stealing a peek at herself, frowning prettily, and stuffing a stubborn golden lock into her braid.

“That’s good. I’m sure Garrick would appreciate any prayers –”

“That’s not all.” Glyn glanced a little guiltily at her sister. “I’ve also been asking God, begging him, to make me mistress of Abergwynn.”

“You what!”

Glyn smiled at that thought. “It’s just so wonderful here. So big — as big as a king’s castle, I’ll wager.” She clutched the mirror to her breast and sighed dreamily. “I just wish Lord Garrick would find his boy and come back to me. However, if the lad has met with some horrible end and passed on, I hope Garrick will accept the boy’s fate and forget about him.”

“Glyn!”

“Well, he can’t spend the rest of his life in mourning.”

“I don’t think it’s so easy to forget a child,” Morgana replied, stunned at Glyn’s reversal. For a few minutes Morgana had thought her sister capable of caring for someone other than herself, but she’d been mistaken. Glyn had shown her true self once again.

Glyn made an impatient gesture with her hand. “I know, I know. And of course he loves the boy. It would be a terrible loss to think that your child was kidnapped or worse. But Garrick can have more children, many more children.”

“He’ll never forget his firstborn,” Morgana said stubbornly. To think she’d actually missed Glyn while she was here alone at Abergwynn!

“Of course he won’t forget him. Not really forget. At least not at first, but when time passes and he sees his next son or daughter, Logan’s image will fade and—”

“Oh, you stupid girl!” Morgana cut in. Her own visions of death had been so horrible she could barely think of anything else. “How can you even think such things? The boy is alive, and Garrick will find him.” Especially if I help him.

“Well, if Logan still lives—”

“He does!” Morgana said with more certainty than she felt.

“Garrick will still need a bride,” Glyn insisted, lifting a delicate blond brow in silent reproof. “What is all this concern? Don’t tell me, sister, that you fancy the baron—”

“Of course not!” Morgana cut in, though a rush of heat invaded the back of her neck. She had to help Garrick, whether he wanted her assistance or not. Now that her visions had returned, she was certain that she could help him, if not in locating the boy, at least in warding off the evil she felt was luring the baron away from Abergwynn.

“Wolf, come,” she said, snapping her fingers.

Glyn sidled a few steps away. “What—”

“Wolf needs to take a walk and stretch his legs.” She offered her sister a meaningful look. “He gets restless and angry if he’s cooped up too long. Want to come along?”

“Nay. I, uh, I have to work with Clare this afternoon. She wants me to learn all about those awful herbs she uses to treat the sick.” She glanced nervously at the wolf, and Morgana smiled. For once she’d bested Glyn and knew the herbs and their uses by heart.

Leaving Glyn with her mirror, Morgana whistled to Wolf, slipped down the hallway, and checked the corridor to see that she was alone. After sending Wolf downstairs she crept into Garrick’s chamber. When the door closed behind her she felt the clammy shroud of death again. “You’re imagining things,” she told herself, but couldn’t shake the feelings that Garrick was in danger. She hurried through the connecting chamber and entered Logan’s room. There the temperature was cooler, as if winter had settled in this silent, tomblike chamber. Treachery seemed to lurk in every shadowy corner. Her pulse began to beat a frightened rhythm. She sat on the edge of the child’s bed, and the vision came again — water and yellow silk, men’s shouts, and a child’s cry.

“Logan? Are you there?” she whispered, but the vision, as it had in the past, faded quickly, rippling away from her mind.

Morgana was left with a dread as deep as the sea. There was little time to lose. Garrick and his son were in grave danger. Morgana would first ask Ware’s permission to leave, and if it was denied, which she fully expected, then she would take off against his orders, defying him, defying Garrick, defying the very fates that had brought her here!

Ware drew back the arrow, pulling the bowstrings so taut the muscles in his forearm trembled from the strain. Taking aim, he set his jaw, then suddenly let loose. His arrow sliced through the air with a hiss. Thwack! It plunged into the heart of the target, a tarpaulin painted with a picture of a wild boar and mounted over thick straw bundles. He imagined that the target was the blackheart who had stolen Logan and that the surprised man was now pitching forward, clutching the arrow’s shaft and screaming in agony.

“You should have taken me with you, brother,” Ware muttered, as if Garrick could hear him. Ware’s skill as an archer and swordsman was improving. Aside from Garrick and Strahan, Ware was the truest shot at Abergwynn. Yet he was treated like a child, force

d to stay in the castle with his sister, told he was in charge, when in fact it was Strahan who ruled in Garrick’s absence. Simmering with the injustice of the situation, Ware reached for another arrow, sent it streaking through the air, and killed yet another imaginary enemy.