Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

Glyn swallowed hard, and her hand, already near her soft lips, touched the edges of her teeth, as if to be sure they were still in her head. In her own way, Glyn was as much trouble as Morgana … well, nearly. By the ghost of his father, Daffyd didn’t know what to do with his girls!

He strode back to his own room, donned his best tunic, and spoke quickly to his wife. “We have a guest, it seems, the baron himself. Have the servants make the best rooms ready for him and order the cook to prepare a feast.”

Meredydd was already braiding her hair. “Aye,” she agreed. “What brings him here?”

“God only knows.” Daffyd sighed. “The sentry claims Morgana is with him.”

“With the baron?” Meredydd exclaimed.

“Aye.” Daffyd made an impatient movement with his hand. “Though I’m not sure why or how. Glyn says Morgana left the castle to cast more of her foolish spells.”

“Perhaps she cast a spell for a husband and the baron appeared,” Meredydd joked.

“Nay, wife, this is no time for jest,” Daffyd nearly barked. “’Tis your fault that she has been allowed to run wild and free.”

“But not the fault of your mother?” Meredydd asked evenly. “Enit is the one who showed Morgana the powers of nature. As for Morgana’s freedom, who taught her to use a bow and arrow and fight with a dagger, hmmm?”

“Aye, wife,” he admitted, swatting at the air to shove aside her arguments, “that blame ’tis mine.”

“Let us not lay blame, husband. Let us only find out what the lord wants and what he has to do with our daughter.”

“Aye, I shall find out,” he promised, striding to the door as Meredydd found her crimson tunic and began to dress quickly. The baron of Abergwynn was a most handsome man, a widower who had yet to claim a new wife. Perhaps Morgana … Meredydd thought as she adjusted a silk belt around her waist. Why not? The girl was beautiful, spirited, and well past the age of marriage.

Meredydd twisted her hair beneath her wimple. ’Twould take a strong man to tame Morgana’s spirit and gentle her serpent’s tongue. What man would be more likely than the baron himself? With that thought she smiled and decided that Baron Garrick of Abergwynn would be a most welcome guest, a most welcome guest indeed.

Morgana squared her shoulders as her father, his face etched with fury approached her in the great hall. Firelight and rage gleamed in Daffyd’s eyes.

The giant of a man who was the baron stepped closer to her — as if to protect her! Morgana shot him a scathing look. She did not need his protection from her own father.

Daffyd, jaw clenched, turned to the baron. “Welcome to Tower Wenlock,” he said tightly. “I’ve awakened the servants, and they will offer you food, the best room in the castle, and whatever else you may need.”

Garrick’s eyes glinted, his lips twisted into a lazy, disarming grin. “I accept your hospitality.”

“What’s mine is yours.” The tension in Daffyd’s shoulders eased a bit at the baron’s manner. Mayhap there was no trouble at all.

“Are you saying, Daffyd, that I can have anything I would like?”

“Aye. As I am your vassal, all you need do is ask.”

Morgana felt the tension in the great hall, and when Garrick’s gloved fingers surrounded her shoulder, she held herself firm, refusing to quiver.

A smile crossed Garrick’s face. “Then I thank you, Daffyd,” Garrick said, “for all I want is your daughter — Morgana.”

Morgana nearly fainted. Her breath lodged in her throat. Nay! Nay! Nay! “Father, please—” She heard a rustling on the stairs and watched in horror as her mother descended the steps. Another smaller figure followed her, and Morgana died a thousand horrible deaths as Glyn, her blue eyes shining, crept into the room.

Meredydd’s face was flushed, her eyes bright. “Did you hear that, Daffyd?” she asked, smiling at her elder daughter. “The lord has asked that Morgana be his wife.”

“No!” Morgana cried instinctively, drawing away from this arrogant man.

“Hush!” her father ordered. “You have no right to speak. Look at you!” He motioned to her scratched and muddy tunic, her tangled black hair. “That you are my daughter brings me only shame!”

“Father!” Morgana cried, h

er throat closing, her eyes burning when she saw the disdain in Daffyd’s eyes.

“You have disobeyed me for the last time, Morgana. As for me” —he cast his eyes on Glyn— “you, too, have disobeyed me this night. Did I not tell you to stay in your room?”

“Aye,” Glyn whispered, blushing as she gazed up at Garrick, “but I could not stay away when I knew that the great lord had chosen to visit us.” She smiled prettily, dimpling. “Forgive me, Father.”