Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

A chill of premonition caused gooseflesh to rise on her skin. “What if I fail, Grandmother? What if I cannot find the child of Maginnis? What if he is already dead?”

“You cannot change what has happened, but mayhap you can steer the course of the fates in a new direction.”

“I think not.”

Enit patted Morgana’s hands with the patience of the elderly. “Follow your heart, child.”

“My heart does not belong to Castle Abergwynn or to the baron and especially

not to Sir Strahan.”

Enit smiled, a small mysterious grin that twisted her thin lips. Her cloudy eyes seemed to sparkle again. “Your mother says you are to be his bride.”

“I’d rather die.”

To her surprise Enit chuckled softly, then began coughing. “Go, child,” she said, her body racked with a fit that was squeezing the life from her. “Your destiny lies to the north, with Maginnis.”

“Nay, I—”

“I have seen it,” Enit said softly as Morgana reached for a cup of water and honey and held it to her grandmother’s lips.

“You’ve seen what?”

Enit waved her favorite grandchild away. “Trust in your visions. Do what you must. If marriage to Strahan of Hazelwood is your destiny, you must accept it.”

“Never!” Morgana cried.

“Do not fret.” Enit patted Morgana’s hand. Her fingers were cool. “Marriage to Hazelwood is the only answer.”

Morgana’s insides turned to ice.

“God bless you, Morgana, and listen to the wind, for ’twill be your friend.”

Morgana crossed her arms churlishly over her chest and fought back her rising dread of the future. “The wind speaks not to me these days.”

“It will.”

Morgana wasn’t convinced. “If I fail in this task …?”

“Fear not. The fates are with you. When I see you next, your path will be clear, and I will help you…” Enit’s paper-thin eyelids lowered, and Morgana knew she might never see her grandmother alive again. She trembled inside for Enit with her sorcery, quick laughter, and soft touch. Enit had been Morgana’s best friend for all her seventeen years. She kissed the old woman’s forehead and offered a prayer that her grandmother not be taken just yet.

“Morgana?” Meredydd’s voice floated through the darkness. “’Tis time you were abed,” she said, entering the chamber. “You’re to leave early in the morning. Come on, off with you now.” She shooed Morgana out of Enit’s chamber and along the hallway, pausing only to kiss her firstborn lightly on the cheek at the doorway of the chamber belonging to Morgana and Glyn. “No pranks, now,” she said, glancing at the sentries who still guarded the chamber door, as Morgana’s father had insisted.

“Does Father think I will try to escape?” Morgana asked.

“He is only being careful.” Morgana stepped toward her bedchamber, but her mother’s fingers caught the sleeve of her tunic. “Maginnis brought some of the boy’s things and has placed them in your room.”

“But—”

“He knows that you have found others after touching their clothes or something they valued.” Meredydd’s face looked pale in the moving light from the sconces still burning in the hallway.

“Mother, I don’t know if I can—”

“Hush! You can and you will,” Meredydd said, sealing her lips firmly. “All these years you have been a willful, strong-minded child, and I have let you run free. But now ’tis time to become a woman — lady.”

“As well as a sorceress,” Morgana said sullenly. “Many’s the time you have told me to forsake my powers and—”

Meredydd’s fingers found the flesh of Morgana’s upper arm. “’Tis too late. Now use the powers God has granted you and help the baron find his son!” She released her grip and shook her head, her voice softening a little. “Oh, child, how you try my patience.” Sighing, she whispered, “Good night, Morgana. Sleep well.”