Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“He needs to know what has happened to his son.”

“Does he?” Clare shook her head. “I wonder. There’s a good chance that something horrid

has befallen the child, and what good would come of Garrick’s knowledge of his boy’s fate?” She touched Morgana lightly on the arm. “When Astrid died, Garrick was beside himself. He wouldn’t eat for days. Had it not been for the child, I do not know what he would have kept his mind. He loved his wife more than any man should love a woman. He was planning to marry someone else when he met her, but Astrid turned his head, and he would have done anything for her. He survived her death, I fear, only because of Logan.”

Morgana’s heart seemed to stop. She had just denied to herself that true love existed, but it seemed that Garrick had once found a love so pure that he could never forget it. She ached a little, for she felt a small current of jealousy of the woman who could elicit such deep emotions from so powerful a man.

Clare smiled sadly. “Sometimes my brother is not as strong as he thinks he is,” she said. She drew a line in the gravel with the toe of her boot and said thoughtfully, “If he uncovers the truth about his son, and if that truth is unpleasant, I know not how he’ll survive.”

As if deciding she’d confided too much, Clare suddenly stood and walked along the gravel path, her hands in the vast folds of her rust-colored tunic, and Morgana followed her. “There is a rumor of trouble to the north, with the Scots. If Garrick is called away to fight for Edward, he’ll need all his strength, all his wits. He cannot be worried about the fate of his child.” At Morgana’s horrified expression, Clare placed a hand on the girl’s arm. “Of course it is natural that he wants to know. But … I am told you have powers, unearthly powers that give you visions. If the vision of Logan will upset Garrick before he readies for war, keep it to yourself.”

Morgana thought of Garrick’s wrath should he ever find out that she had withheld information about his son’s fate. His vengeance would be swift and sure, and all who lived in Tower Wenlock would suffer. Morgana was sure of it. “I promised the baron as well as God himself that I would help Garrick find his child. I cannot go back on my word.”

Clare’s expression changed slightly, her lips pursing. “Do what you must, Morgana, but please think of the consequences. Castle Abergwynn and all that belongs to Abergwynn, even Llanwynn and Wenlock, are subject to Garrick. What would happen to all of us if he became so wrapped up in vengeance that he disobeyed the king or cared not for the townspeople? I’ve seen it before, Morgana. Vengeance can be a man’s undoing.”

Hours later Garrick sent his vassal, George, to find Morgana. Clare gave her leave of her lessons, and she followed George through the castle and outside, past the gate to the outer bailey where Garrick was waiting. His charger and Phantom had been saddled and, bridles jangling, were trying to pluck some of the spring grass.

“You said you wanted to be taken to the spot where Logan was last seen. We’ll go there now,” Garrick ordered.

She caught the look that passed between a thatcher working on the roof of the stables and a carpenter who was shoring up the walls, which had begun to lean. She didn’t pause to wonder what the men who worked for Garrick thought of her. Mayhap there were many rumors concerning her powers as a sorceress and her relationship with the baron. She spied young Tommy Jackson shoveling manure from the stables. His friends were beside him, muttering under their breath, filling a cart with dung, and, upon seeing Morgana, throwing her hateful looks as they bent to their work.

Tommy’s nose was wrinkled, but he put his small shoulder into his task. He, too, glanced up at Morgana, and she managed a smile. His response was to spit on the ground between the gap in his teeth. The hatred on his small face was all too visible, and Morgana knew in an instant that the boy blamed her for his smelly punishment.

“Come.” Garrick wheeled his great horse around and, with a signal to the guard, rode through the double-towered gate and beneath the two portcullises. Morgana, upon Phantom, followed Garrick’s lead, and her little mare’s steps were quick, as if she too, were anxious to shed herself of the high stone walls of Abergwynn.

As Phantom passed the final gate, she broke into a trot. Sensing a challenge, Garrick’s charger flicked his black ears back, and his sleek hide quivered. Morgana leaned forward, and Phantom took off, moving easily into a gallop. The gray mare was quickly beside Warrior, but the stallion wasn’t to be outdone and with a smooth stretch of sleek muscles, he exploded into an easy stride and quickly outdistanced Phantom.

“Come on,” Morgana whispered, leaning forward, her hair blowing free, her tunic billowing out over the dappled mare’s rump. Laughing, tears welling up in her eyes as the wind streamed past her and tangled in her hair, Morgana felt freer than she had since her first terrifying vision of Garrick astride his black steed. “We can best them,” she whispered as the mare’s strides flattened out and the grassy field swept beneath them in an expanse of green. She couldn’t help but laugh, though there was no way Phantom could catch the black destrier.

Garrick pulled up at the edge of the woods, and for once his stern face was relaxed, a smile, more dazzling than Morgana would ever have imagined, slid from one side of his mouth to the other, rising in crooked mockery as Morgana pulled back on the reins and Phantom tried to nip Warrior’s flank.

“Your horse is spirited.”

“But foolish, I fear,” Morgana said with a laugh as Phantom sidestepped a kick from the larger horse.

“Like her mistress.”

“Do not taunt me,” Morgana warned, though she couldn’t help grinning. Here at the edge of the forest with the sun warming the crown of her head and the smell of the loamy ground filling her nostrils, she couldn’t be less than happy. Even the grim prospect of searching for the boy did not weigh down her spirits, so glad was she to be riding free.

“The guards who were with Logan said they took this path,” Garrick explained as he pointed to a trail that wound through the thicket and into the gloom. He nudged Warrior’s great sides, and the horse entered the forest, following a trail that seemed, from the tracks of horseshoes embedded in it, to have been traveled by many men on horseback probably in search of the lad.

Garrick was forced to duck beneath low-hanging branches as he studied the undergrowth. His merry mood soon disappeared, as if the dimness of the forest darkened his spirits. The trail curved suddenly and broke free of the thicket, into an open field where early spring flowers were already in bloom.

To Morgana, the grassland sprinkled with daisies was nearly as gorgeous as the rolling countryside near Llanwynn and Tower Wenlock, but Garrick seemed unaffected by the beauty of the landscape. Instead, his mood darkened even further, and his scowl became fiercer. “Logan was last seen hereabouts,” he explained, climbing off his war-horse and studying the ground. Angrily he glared at the ocean and pointed to a finger of land that jutted out into the sea. “See those ruins? That was where Abergwynn was to have been built many years ago. ’Twas already started when the baron changed his mind and built the keep where it stands today. The baron felt that this land was too low, ofttimes thick with fog. The new site provided a better view of the surrounding lands and would be more easily protected.”

Morgana studied the ruins and the ground that stretched between the forest and the headland, but the beauty of the landscape seemed to fade as she realized she stood on the very ground where Garrick’s child had last walked. She bent down close to the grass and placed her palm against the cool ground. She pulled the grass aside, scooped some dirt into her palm, and flung it high into the air. “Protect him,” she whispered, thinking of Logan’s boy.

“What sorcery is this?”

“Shh,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she felt a cold shiver of dread tingle between her shoulder blades. The sun passed behind a cloud. A breath of wind teased her hair and brought a chill to her heart. She touched Logan’s felt boots, which she kept in a pouch, and a tingle of fear skittered up her fingers and arms. “Holy Mother,” she whispered, closing her eyes. Within her mind she heard a scream, but not a child’s wail — no, something more fearful and terrifying. The back of her throat tasted of metal as she felt betrayal, as cold as a snake’s skin, twist through her mind. Beware, a whispery voice rasped in her mind. Treachery, betrayal, and bloodshed hover within the walls of Abergwynn. Stunned, Morgana dropped the tiny boots and let out her own silent scream.

Strong hands surrounded her arms, shaking her, and Morgana, already frightened, jerked back. Garrick leaned over her. His face was ashen, his eyes filled with dread. “You’ve had a vision.”

“Nay, only a feeling that something terrible has happened,” she said, licking suddenly dry lips.

“Logan,” he said, his voice strangled. “He’s—”

“I don’t know!” She placed a finger on his lips, not wanting him to utter the terrible words. “I saw nothing, but I heard a woman scream.”