Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

He was closer now, his voice nearer. The horse next to Phantom shifted and minced as a boot scraped the hard dirt floor. All at once he was standing next to her, pinning her between himself and the mare. Phantom tried to shift away, but because of the tether she could not. “Think you of escape, Morgana?” Garrick asked, and in the moon’s silver glow, seeping through the open door, she could see his chiseled features set in vexation as he stared down at her. He stood nearly a foot taller than she, but she refused to be intimidated by the sheer size of him.

“Escape the thick walls of Castle Abergwynn?” She almost laughed at his question. “Even I am not foolish enough to think I can steal away.” Ah, but she would leave this castle — aye, even this land — far behind her if she could. They both knew it, as they both knew there was no escape from a fortress so strong as this keep. Mayhap, should she live here for years, she would find a way to flee these high stone walls, but she couldn’t think in terms of months, let alone years. No, she could not escape, though living here as virtual prisoner would surely kill her before she could make plans to depart. “I was restless and came to check on my mare,” she lied.

“But you stopped at the pond.” Garrick had plucked a piece of straw from the manger and twirled it between thumb and first finger, and even in the darkness Morgana saw the motion.

“Aye, to see the moon’s reflection.”

“You had Logan’s tunic with you.”

Her heart dropped. He wanted so much, and if only she could tell him anything about his child, she would. “I tried to see his image in the water. I prayed God would show me how to find Logan.”

“And did you get an answer?” Garrick asked, dropping the straw.

“Nay, but sometimes God is long in replying. We must be patient.”

“I have been patient,” Garrick replied harshly, and a horse in the next enclosure began to snort. “Are you finished here, or are you planning to take your mare for a midnight ride?”

She knew that he was jesting, yet the thought of riding astride Phantom, her hair blowing free, the air rushing past her face, was a pleasant one. “Tomorrow, if you have the time, I would like to follow the trail where your son was last seen. If I am to find the boy, I must be able to go where he went, to walk in his shoes.

“He was but a child; he did not go where he pleased.”

“But neither was he a prisoner, and though he was always accompanied by his nurse or a guard, he had freedom.”

He heard the irony in her words. “You’re a guest, not a prisoner.”

“A guest?” she threw back at him. “Do you force all your guests to visit you and have them do your will by threatening their lives and the lives of their families?”

“I have not done so.”

“Did you not, in the chapel at Wenlock, vow that you would be the death of all who lived within the tower if I failed to find your son.”

He didn’t respond, but the leather of his boots creaked as he shifted his weight.

Morgana went boldly on, though her palms had begun to sweat and her heart was hammering with dread. “Well, Baron of Abergwynn, if I am to find the boy — and God have mercy on my soul and the souls of my family if I fail — I must be able to go where I will, to follow my heart, to listen to the wind. You say you want your boy back, and though you believe not in my powers, you expect me to make Logan appear to you. I will try to find him, but you must help me in my quest.”

“Anything—”

“Then grant me the freedom to go where I please.”

Garrick had no reason to deny her the request, except for a suspicion that she might escape him. But as he stared at her, he believed she would stay. She would never put the lives of her family in jeopardy, and though he would not hurt them if she failed, he allowed her to think him ruthless in order to compel her to do what he wanted. “I will let you have your freedom,” he said at length, “but you must be accompanied whenever you leave the castle — to ensure your safety as well as to make certain that you stay put.”

“I’ll not endanger my family.”

“I believe you,” he said, surprised at the admiration he felt for her bravery. It took courage and perhaps a little foolishness to stand up to him. Few had the nerve. But Morgana of Wenlock continued to amaze him. He held open the stable door and took her hand, guiding her through the shadows so that the sentries would not take notice. However, as they dashed along the walls of the keep and through the door near the kitchen, he was all too aware of this tiny woman with her warm hands and wide eyes. He doubted she was a sorceress; in truth, he thought her just the wayward, spoiled daughter of a rich man who had not the power to mold her into a proper woman. Daffyd, for all his loyalty, was not a strong man; his three headstrong children were proof enough of his weakness.

And yet Morgana was truly different from any woman he’d ever met. Outspoken to the point of being insubordinate, free-spirited, and delighting in the earth and nature, she seemed harmless and enchanting. But a witch? Nay. He could not see her practicing the black arts or weaving spells.

Because of her eccentricity, she was considered a sorceress by some, and Garrick didn’t doubt that she, too, thought she could talk to the wind or to any other force of nature. Had he not seen her chanting spells, lighting candles, and communing with the fates on that first curious night by the sea beneath the cliffs supporting Tower Wenlock? So surely she thought she possessed some powers.

Whether that was true or not remained to be seen.

Garrick, not wanting to be caught alone with her, was careful to sneak along the inner curve of the wall, avoiding the moonlight that pooled on the ground and cast the night in shades of pale gray. He felt a fool. He was master of this castle, and no one save the king himself could order him inside. Yet he felt, probably for Morgana’s sake, that he had to hide.

Perhaps it was his own impure thoughts that made him so careful. Since spying her at the edge of the pond, he’d felt desire sing through his blood, and this wanton lust that filled his mind with thoughts of lying with her would not disappear. Now, in the darkness, her hand in his as they tried to elude his own sentries, he felt a youthful excitement that he’d long ago forgotten.

They paused at the doorway, taking in shallow breaths, and when he turned to face her, the moon caught her white skin in its luminescent glow, and her eyes seemed rounder, deeper green, and filled with a wondrous innocence that caused his gut to twist. Before he could think twice, he gathered her into his arms, and his lips captured hers with a rising heat that frightened him more than any soldier raising a sword against him. He’d sworn on Astrid’s grave that he would never love again, vowed to live a life devoted to her memory.

Though he’d known he would not — could not — remain celibate, he’d promised that he would never again be tangled in a web of emotion from which he could not break free. But this girl, Morgana of Wenlock, caused all his pledges to slip from his mind, and he was caught up in the feel of her lips, trembling and unsure, against his and the weight of her bosom flattening as he pressed her against the wall, his desire sprouting like a young sapling, his body filling with an ache so vast that Garrick wasn’t sure it could ever be relieved.