Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

The knight’s dark brows drew into a black knot. He grunted and rubbed his belly with anxious fingers. “But, sire—”

“She’s promised to someone else.”

“I — I’m what?” Glyn demanded, and then, hearing her own voice, she bit her lip and looked as if she might faint.

Clare snarled, “You’ll burn in hell for this, Strahan.”

“My men will be rewarded, all of them,” Strahan said with a cruel grin as he turned to Morgana’s trembling sister. “You, Glyn of Wenlock, are a prize.”

“No — oh, please.”

Ware lunged forward, but Clare held on to his arm, restraining him. “Nay,” she whispered, before turning her swollen face to Strahan. “You can’t pledge women’s lives to your men—”

“I can and I have. Glyn is spoken for, and so, dear cousin, are you.”

Ware leapt forward again, but Joseph gave him a swift, hard kick to the groin that sent him sprawling on the floor. Clutching his crotch and fighting back tears, he stared up at Strahan with hatred. “You lying black-hearted bastard. I’ll rip your throat out!” Fighting the pain, he found his footing and charged again, only to be shoved backward by Joseph. He hit the floor with a thud, his head landing in the rushes, his pride in tatters as he still held his groin.

“Stop it, Ware. It’s no use,” Clare ordered, but her eyes were trained on Strahan. “I’ll not lie with any man unless he’s of my own choosing. I’ll die first.”

“I don’t think so,” Strahan said, and Joseph, his attention torn between Ware and Glyn, grunted.

“You’ve got your woman,” Strahan reminded the lusty soldier. “Be satisfied.”

Joseph frowned. “But, sire—”

Ware cringed at the term.

“I said, be satisfied. As for you” —Strahan pierced Ware with his evil glare— “I’ve left instructions that if you cause any trouble, you’re not to be killed, but you will be chained and forced to watch as your sister and Glyn are raped and beaten. Now, you can save them a lot of trouble and pain by setting an example and doing as you’re told. If you do not, Joseph here will carry out my orders.”

From the corner of his eye Ware saw his sister step forward, tilting her face upward to meet her cousin’s black glare. “God will punish you without end, Strahan.”

“I think not. You see, even Friar Francis, after searching his soul, has seen the light and accepted me as the new baron of Abergwynn. He will absolve me of all my sins, cousin, so don’t worry about my soul.”

Clare spat on the man who was her cousin. Ware scrambled to his feet, determined to pummel Strahan should he attempt to hit Clare again, but this time Strahan restrained himself. “You’ll regret that, Clare. I’ll see to it personally.” He turned and strode to the door. Joseph sent Glyn one final lustful glance and followed the new baron of Abergwynn from the chamber. The door swung shut with a thud that echoed through the stone halls and seemed to mock Garrick, wherever he was.

The sun was high and pale. Shafts of light filtered through a thin layer of clouds and thick spring leaves as Garrick’s tired party followed yet another road. This path was overgrown, little more than a deer trail, which was no longer used, as a larger, more traveled road lay only half a mile east. The horses plodded through the undergrowth, and insects, excited by the sunlight, droned and flitted in the air.

Morgana was cold. Deep inside, she felt the wintry hand of death wrap itself around her heart. Hunter had ridden ahead to scout the area and to slice through the vines and brambles that blocked the road. Garrick rode at the head of the column, leading the rest of the weary band. Morgana, astride Luck, was wedged in the middle between Sir Giles and Sir John.

As the company made its way deeper into the copse of saplings and gnarled oaks, the sunlight became dappled, mere patches of light that pooled on the ground. Morgana felt as if a sliver of ice had slipped down her spine. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and she wondered if the devil himself resided in these woods.

“You’re being silly,” she told herself, but even smooth-tempered Luck was nervous. His ears flicked forward and back, and his steps sometimes minced, as if he were afraid of laying a hoof down too long for fear some snarling beast would charge out the dark shrubbery, claws and fangs extended.

Some of the men felt it, too, the change in the air. They looked anxiously over their shoulders. From the corner of her eye, Morgana saw Sir Adam make a hasty sign of the cross when he thought no one was looking. Others kept their free hand on the hilt of their swords, ready to slay whatever beast or man came rushing through the brush.

She heard a snap. Luck trembled. Pulling back on the reins, Morgana eyed the dark undergrowth. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.

“Ho!” Hunter called, his voice ringing through the woods and startling birds and rodents. Pheasants and quail were flushed out of their hiding spots in an eruption of feathers and a fluttering of wings that caused even the calm war-horses to dance and neigh. “Lord Garrick, over here!”

Garrick spurred his horse forward, and the rest of the knights followed. They joined Hunter in a clearing that had been trampled by several horses. A fire pit was filled with coals, now cold, and yet Morgana sensed that people had been here not long since.

Upon entering the clearing, Morgana felt death, and her throat grew dry. As the men studied the broken undergrowth, she dismounted and followed a narrow path to a brook slicing through the wet ground. Heart in her throat, she knelt at the water’s edge and splashed a few drops on her face. She reached into the brook again, and her fingers touched a fragment of cloth. Her breath stilled in her lungs as she looked into the shadows and saw a scrap of gold shimmering just below the surface. Just like her vision! “Holy Father,” she whispered, trying to stay calm.

The fabric was caught on a sharp root that extended into the stream. She reached into the frigid water and retrieved the scrap of silk.

“It’s Jocelyn’s.” Garrick’s cold voice startled her.

She jumped, startled. Looking up, she noticed fury mingling with fear in Garrick’s eyes. He took the wet fabric from her hands and swore under his breath. “This is what you saw in your dreams, isn’t it?” he asked, dangling the dripping silk in front of her nose.