Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

The gasp that escaped came not only from Morgana’s lips, for Glyn and Clare, too, stood witnesses in the small chapel. Glyn seemed frozen while Clare’s face was a mask of harsh determination, as if she were enduring this mockery of a ceremony only until she could rebel.

“We had a bargain,” Morgana reminded Strahan, but he laughed at her insolence.

“You cannot marry—” Garrick began, fury rising in his blood.

“As baron of Abergwynn I can do as I please,” Strahan interrupted.

“You are not baron!”

“Oh, but I am! I have command of this castle, and I will marry Morgana of Wenlock. You have the privilege of watching, as you may watch the consummation of the marriage.”

“Strahan, no!” Clare cried.

“Shut her up,” Strahan commanded a guard. Then he turned back to the fury burning bright in Garrick’s eyes. “Though my bride would as soon cut out my heart as say these vows, she’s agreed to marry me so that you and your miserable family can go free.”

“Nay!” Garrick tried to sit up again, and once more he was restrained. This time Sir Andrew’s hand slapped him across the cheek, and he fell back to the pallet, pain exploding through his brain, his mind threatening to swim back into the comfort of blackness. Yet he forced himself to remain alert, for he had to find a way to kill Strahan before he placed a hand on Morgana, no matter what the cost.

“Do not strain yourself,” Morgana said to Garrick, though she fought tears. “’Twill be all right. Logan is safe, and you will be free to go with him.”

Relief flooded through him. So she had found the boy after all. If for no other reason, Garrick would live, but he would not, could not, allow Strahan to marry Morgana. “I will never be free without you,” he said to Morgana.

“How touching,” Strahan cut in. “But you have no choice. The lady has agreed to marry me.”

“Never!” Garrick’s jaw tightened in anger, and Strahan laughed.

Closing his eyes for a second, Garrick wished the scene away. Mayhap this was all a bad dream.

But when he lifted his lids again, he was still in the chapel. The chaplain was at the altar, praying, and Glyn, Clare, and several soldiers were on their knees. Morgana and Stra

han faced the altar, and Andrew kept his harsh eyes on Garrick. Another soldier stood guard at the door. Garrick clasped Andrew around his wrist. “You vowed your fealty to me,” he reminded the tall knight.

“Aye, but I changed my mind.”

“You cannot. You promised me, and Abergwynn and the king—”

“On with the ceremony!” Strahan cut in, and Andrew shook off Garrick’s feeble grasp.

Never before had Garrick felt so helpless. Aye, he’d been proud, and true, he’d been raw with pain when Logan was stolen, but this — to watch as Morgana married the man she hated — this was too much. Rage kindled in his breast, but he feigned sleep, hoping to put Sir Andrew at ease.

The mass was moving much too quickly, and his brain was too thick to think clearly. But there had to be a way to stop this madness, to save Morgana before she gave herself to Strahan. He searched the room, his eyes moving slowly beneath his half-closed eyelids, rage pumping through his veins.

God help me, he prayed as he gritted his teeth and, with all his strength, threw himself off the bed. His body pitched forward toward the altar. Andrew reached for him and missed, grabbing the air. Glyn screamed, and soldiers reached for their weapons.

“For the mercy of Jesus,” the chaplain shouted as Garrick landed on the altar, spilling the wine and toppling the candles. Wax dripped, and flames quickly ignited the altar cloth.

Glyn’s scream curdled upward to the rafters.

“You idiot!” Strahan jumped back, grabbing for his sword. Several men raised their weapons. Quick as a cat, Morgana tossed one candle into the rushes, and fire swept through the chapel, flames crackling hungrily at the priest’s vestments and Strahan’s surcoat.

“Stop!” Strahan commanded.

Clare grabbed the chalice and swung it at the guard standing next to her. As he stumbled, she deftly relieved him of his sword.

“Morgana!” Garrick yelled, staggering to his feet.

Terrified screams and shouts filled the small room. Garrick jolted forward, his feet leaden as he tried to stay out of the guard’s hands and away from Strahan’s sword.

The priest quickly stripped off his alb, stamped at the flames, and grabbed the small font of holy water.