Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)

“Well, witch?”

Morgana’s stomach turned over, and she thought she might be sick. “Aye,” she whispered, accepting the death sentence of her spirit.

“You’ll be faithful and obedient and never give him cause for grief?” The skin grew taut over his harsh features. His eyes were filled with a private torment, his jaw set in stone.

“Aye, aye, aye! Did I not say it?” she fired back at him. “If this is what you want, Garrick of Abergwynn, lord and master, then so be it!” Tears threatened her eyes, but she held them bravely at bay. “I’ll not remember last night. I’ll pretend you didn’t … we didn’t … that it never happened, and I’ll be a faithful wife to that black-hearted Strahan, but I will never, never go to his bed without shame!”

“Because of me.”

“Because I despise him!”

He hesitated, swallowing hard, and for a moment she thought he was weakening to her, that he would pull her into his arms and kiss her and promise to love her forever, to marry her, to die for her if necessary.

“Tell me this is what you want, Garrick.”

He ground his back teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut. “Aye,” he said, forcing the word over his lips. “’Tis what I want. ’Tis best for all of us.”

Morgana had no choice but to accept her fate. Though her knees threatened to buckle, she would not weaken before him. She managed to stand proud and accept her destiny. She could deal with anything, she told herself, if only her family and Garrick’s son were safe.

Ware’s mount stumbled yet again. Though the mare was the best horse left in the stables, she was old, and the punishing gait was too much for the beast. The road was uneven and dark, and the animal tripped again. “On with you, nag!” Ware urged, but the huge horse heaved and shuddered, her lathered body glistening as dawn approached.

“You must rest,” Cadell warned, drawing his own mount to a halt. “We cannot take a chance of losing our horses.”

Angrily Ware pulled in on the reins, and the old bay immediately slowed to a walk. Cadell was right, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore the sense of urgency that screamed through his brain: Fast

er! Faster! There was no time to lose. Any extra minutes spent tarrying might mean the downfall of Garrick and Abergwynn. If only he’d thought to bring extra horses, even palfreys or courses or Clare’s spirited jennet, any horse that could be ridden when these mares became tired. But he’d been anxious and impatient to find Garrick and had grabbed only a few provisions and weapons to carry with him on his quest. The night ride had been grueling and dangerous, and his whole body ached. Yet he rode on. If only he could impart his iron will into his tired mare’s mind.

Beyond the horses and riders, loping through the thicket, the wolf stayed with them, never too close, but always darting through the shadows of the trees just ahead. Ware found the cur disturbing but necessary. Three times already the beast had stopped, barked gruffly, and altered their course. Cadell had unerring faith in the wolf, but Ware wasn’t convinced that the beast wasn’t on the trail of a buck or a boar.

“Wolf made it all the way to Abergwynn, didn’t he?” Cadell had said when Ware voiced his doubts. “He’ll find Morgana, all right. If you don’t believe me, we could put down a little wager, but be careful of gambling with me, my friend, for I am brother to the witch and sometimes I think that I, too, can see through a window to the future.”

Ware had refused to bet and had scoffed at Cadell’s claim, but he continued following the wolf. What other choice was there? The wolf was following the very directions Will Farmer had given Garrick.

“Come — there’s a clearing,” Cadell said, squinting into the rising mists of dawn. We can rest for a few hours, give the horses time to cool off and drink, then be off again.”

“And in that time Strahan will be up and after Garrick,” Ware grumbled.

Cadell glanced at Ware’s flagging horse, and Ware knew there was no point in arguing. The mare, if she kept up the gallop Ware demanded, would be dead by noon. Muttering under his breath, Ware slid from his saddle and led the old bay through the opening in the trees. The horse’s ears pricked, and she drank long from the stream that rushed through a thicket of oak and pine.

Ware loosened the girth and breast straps and removed the saddle. His mare quickly found a patch of wet earth and rolled in the mud, grunting with pleasure, legs lashing the air.

Cadell, once his horse was free of saddle and blanket, plopped down near the water’s edge and stared into the creek. “I don’t know how she does it,” he said, his expression perplexed as he watched the ripples. “But Morgana claims she looks into the water and sees what will be.”

“You believe her?” Ware settled against the thick bark of a willow tree.

“There is something to what she does, all right. I’ve felt the twinges myself.”

Ware didn’t believe him. Cadell’s imagination ran away with him at times. But all in all, he was a good lad, and Ware was grateful for his company — visions or no visions.

Finally, seeing nothing but stones, gravel, and fish in the stream, Cadell, too, propped himself against the tree.

“You think Garrick’s near?” Cadell asked as he cut a length of willow branch and began stripping the new leaves from the supple ropelike stem.

“Nay.” Ware glanced across the stream, where the wolf sat, ears cocked, staring toward the east. “I think our friend wouldn’t wait around if Morgana was nearby, and I’ll wager my best sword that she and Garrick are together.”

“That won’t please Sir Strahan.” Cadell used the branch as a whip, slicing the air.

“Nothing much does,” Ware said bitterly as he ran his tongue around his teeth. Some were still loose, though the blood had dried and the cuts on his face were healing. Clare had told him he’d bear a scar for the rest of his life and his nose would never again be straight, but he didn’t care. His looks mattered not. Getting even with that lying, double-crossing bastard of a cousin of his did. ’Twas all that did matter.