Enchantress (Medieval Trilogy 1)
He scowled. “So this danger you see — it still exists?”
Her fingers twisted around the reins. “I know only what I’ve told you before — that there will be death and bloodshed. And the feelings are strong — stronger, mayhap because of the wind.” She lifted her head and smelled the acrid scent of smoke drifting on the breeze.
“You once feared me.”
”Aye, but now I follow you,” she said, her heart open, though her visions were still terrifying. She would ride with Garrick wherever he took her.
“Think you that I shall bring death to Tower Wenlock?”
She swallowed. “Nay,” she said, thinking of Cadell, for all day long his image had been close to her, and several times she had tried to speak to him, to communicate with him over the miles. There was danger for everyone, but right now Cadell was in the gravest peril. She could feel it as she felt the mists rising from the sea to touch her skin.
Garrick frowned, his expression hard. “I must face Strahan alone,” he said. “’Twould not be safe for you. I’ll leave Sir Bradford with you.”
“But I must ride with you,” she protested, panic rising in her heart. Her visions came together in her mind, and she saw death for all whom she loved. “Garrick, please. The wind said I am to help you. I am to find your son. Do not leave me—”
“Enough, Morgana!” he commanded. “I’ll not have your blood on my hands. Stay here until I know ’tis safe in the castle.”
Fear gripped her guts, and she reached out to touch him. “This is a mistake, m’lord,” she begged. “Your very life may depend upon me.”
“As yours depends upon my decision.” He covered her hand with his in a moment of tenderness that squeezed her heart, and she knew that he expected never to see her again.
“Garrick, please,” she begged, tears suddenly brimming her eyes. “I cannot bear to leave you.”
“’Tis best.”
Her heart closed in upon itself. “You need me!”
“I need to know you are safe. I’ve already lost my wife, my son — everyone I’ve loved. I’ll not lose you by my own foolishness.”
“But I can be of help!” Tears streamed from her eyes.
Garrick wiped one of her teardrops from her cheek. His gaze lingered on her face for a mere second before he turned to Sir Bradford. “Stay with Morgana. Her life is in your hands. I’ll send for you both when I know the castle is secure.”
“Nay, Garrick, please!” Morgana cried, but she watched in agony as he yanked hard on the reins and the huge war-horse whirled and galloped through the lush fields surrounding Abergwynn, carrying Garrick and leading a small band of soldiers to their fate.
Chapter Twenty Three
Garrick rode through the open gates of Abergwynn with the sour taste of deception in his throat. No guards stopped them. Was Strahan really a traitor or was there another Judas in the midst? It mattered not. Whoever had stolen his son would curse the day he’d lured Logan away from the castle walls.
His tiny band entered the outer bailey, which was as silent as death. No stableboys. No carpenters. No washer-women. No workers of any kind. “Make ready for battle,” Garrick commanded as the gate to the inner bailey opened and Strahan, astride a huge white horse, appeared. An army of archers and swordsmen stood behind him. Arrows were drawn, aimed at Garrick’s heart. Some of the men were knights in whom he’d trusted. So Morgana was right. Her visions had proved true.
“Cousin. You returned,” Strahan said, and Garrick wanted to strangle him with his bare hands.
“Where is Ware?” Garrick demanded. “He’s in a command here.”
Strahan grinned. “I’m in command, Garrick. Abergwynn is mine. Your sister and your son are my prisoners and your brother is at this moment being hunted down after escaping.”
Garrick’s rage was deep and hot. He could barely remain astride his mount. “Logan is here?”
“Nay.”
“Where, then?”
“Safe.” Strahan’s gaze roved through Garrick’s small band of men. “Where is Morgana?”
“Safe.”
Strahan couldn’t help but smile. “So ’tis true. You’ve claimed her for yourself.”