Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“All right, then,” Ware said, satisfied that Abergwynn was as secure as possible. He turned to Morgana’s brother. “Cadell, we ride!” He noticed Wolf, sitting apart from the hounds that lay under the trestle table. “We’ll take Morgana’s beast,” he said, wondering if Wolf would not better serve Garrick here. “He’ll lead us to his mistress and to Garrick.” Ware’s eyes met those of his sister. “Be safe,” he said to Clare, and then, with Cadell beside him and Wolf totting behind, they hurried to the stables where two of the strongest mares were already saddled.

He could not stop himself. Morgana was too entrancing. Garrick stared at the moon and wondered if she had cast a spell upon him, for it seemed that every night his desire for her was so intense that his insides were on fire. He tried to douse the blaze that seared through his blood, but just a glance from her or the hint of a smile caused a yearning so intense that he lost his ability to reason.

He took the first watch, standing on the outskirts of the firelight, his eyes narrowed against the dark woods. Oh, he’d been a fool, a prideful, useless fool. What right did he have to rule others? He thought of Jocelyn, who had been a happy, faithful servant. Jocelyn had taken to loving Logan as if he were her very own babe. How many times had Garrick stumbled upon her playing a silly game with the boy, the child, enchanted, giggling merrily. Now she was gone — killed, mayhap tortured and raped — because of his stupidity, his trust.

He didn’t deserve his castle or his servants. Guilt constricted his chest, and he wondered again where Logan was this night? Without Jocelyn, the boy, if he was still alive, was no doubt scared to death.

Garrick’s blood pounded at his temples. If he could but find his child —

“Lord Garrick?”

Her voice was soft, as dark as the night. “I thought you were asleep,” he said, turning to find Morgana standing only a few feet from him. The moonlight pooled around her and touched her raven-black hair with traces of silver. Her skin was white, her eyes luminous.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She walked to a tree and laid a slender hand on a low branch. Her brow knotted, and she chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “It’s Abergwynn. Something is wrong,” she said. “I sense trouble at the castle.”

“What kind of trouble?” he demanded. She thought for a moment as he compressed his lips anxiously. “I have no time for this, Morgana,” he snapped. “I must find Logan. Can’t you conjure up some magic and tell me where he is?”

He was mocking her. When the worry in her heart was so great that she couldn’t sleep, he had the nerve to scorn her! “I never thought you a fool.”

“No?”

“Your stubbornness and your pride will be your undoing!”

“Mayhap they already are,” he growled.

“Then trust me when I say we should return to Abergwynn, to face the danger there.”

“When we are so close to finding my son?” His nostrils flared in the darkness. “You should be happy. Your vision came to pass. Jocelyn was here, as was Logan. We will not return to Abergwynn.”

“I am never happy when death is nearby,” she whispered. The knots in her insides twisted painfully, and the visions danced in her head.

Garrick cast her a withering glance and wondered aloud, “Tell me, is it possible to change the course of the future?”

“Aye.”

“And I, in going to Wenlock to find you, could have changed the course of my destiny?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” He glared down at her and his eyes were lit with an inner torment that caused her to shiver. “Could it be that you’re the reason the fates have turned against me?” he asked slowly. “The very reason that God has seen fit to punish me?”

“Your son was taken before you came for me,” she answered woodenly. His words had cut through her pride to wound her heart.

“Aye, that is true,” he admitted, reaching out to trace the curve of her jaw, “but since you returned to Abergwynn with me, my luck seems to have turned for the worse.”

“You think you’re on Logan’s trail.”

“Aye, but at what cost? Jocelyn’s life? The danger you claim exists at Abergwynn?”

Abergwynn. At the mention of the castle a tingle of fear cast a cloud in front of her eyes, and she wasn’t aware of Garrick any longer. The trees seemed to part in the moonlight, and like the nighthawk she had a vision so keen that she could see as far away as the castle, whose stone walls crumbled. She was swept back to Garrick’s chamber, where the

cold stone floors reeked of blood and death and Glyn’s fear was nearly palpable as it flowed into Morgana’s spirit.

In her mind’s eye, she saw Wolf pacing, heard his cry, and watched as blood flowed down the tower steps.

Rough hands shook her. Morgana blinked and found herself staring up at Garrick. His face was a mask of determination, and his silvery gaze drilled into hers. Her throat was dry and wouldn’t work. Garrick shook her again. “Speak to me, woman!”

“Blood has been spilled at Abergwynn,” she got out.