A Passionate Magic (33 page)

“Nor I,” said Dain, chuckling. “She has been
with Sloan for so much of the afternoon that Agatha scolded her for
neglecting the other wounded men. I do think Sloan will enjoy a
speedy recovery.”

“Let them be happy,” Emma said, her gaze on
the still figure she could see through the doorway, and on Vivienne
bending over Hermit’s form.

“Unlike Sloan, Hermit will have a long and
slow recovery,” she said. “Dain, if you were to offer him a place
here at Penruan when he’s well again, I think he’d accept it now,
and be glad of it. You saw today that he is no mean swordsman.”

“A mere man-at-arms,” Dain said, looking at
his sister. ”I wonder if it’s wise to keep him here.”

“Why don’t we leave the decision to Hermit?”
Emma suggested, her voice taking on a note of sharpness. “And to
Vivienne, if Hermit offers her a decision to make.”

Citing the need to remove the last of the
bandits who were infesting Rough Tor before they could regroup and
wreak vengeance on Trevanan village for the defeat of their
comrades, Dain rode out at dawn the next day with a large troop of
men. He was gone for almost a week. During that time two of the
wounded bandits died and a third tried to escape and was
recaptured. Todd, who was left in charge of the castle defenses
during Dain’s absence, ordered the man cast into the dungeon until
Dain’s return.

“If he’s healthy enough to slip past his
guard,” Todd said to Emma when she inquired about the man’s healing
wounds, “then he’s well enough to withstand being confined for a
while.”

Sloan, with marriage to Hawise promised in
the near future, got out of his bed and limped into the great hall
to announce his decision to return to duty.

“Only if you promise to rely on Todd,” Emma
warned him. “I will not allow you to disappoint Hawise by suffering
a relapse.”

“My lady, I will obey your every command,”
Sloan responded. “You’ve granted me my heart’s desire.”

“Actually, it’s Hawise who will grant you
that,” Emma said. Noticing how Sloan winced when he tried to stand
upright and square his aching shoulders, she winked at Todd behind
his back and received an answering grin that told her the younger
man would see to it that Sloan did not overexert himself.

Hermit’s situation was not as cheerful as
Sloan’s, for one of his wounds began to fester. He developed a high
fever and Emma, Vivienne, and Agatha, who remained at Penruan to
help nurse the injured, all took turns sponging him with cool water
and trying to force herbal medicines past his lips. Early one
morning the fever finally broke, but he lay in a stupor for several
days more.

“He’ll live,” Agatha assured Emma. “Rest and
herbal brews and nourishment will restore him. You don’t need me
here any longer. I’m going back to Trevanan. As for you, my girl,
see that you get some rest, too, or you’ll be sick. Let Hawise
spend a few hours with Hermit, while you and Vivienne sleep. It
will do all of you a world of good. I’ll return in a few days.”

***

As soon as Hermit began to regain his
strength Vivienne suggested that she shave his matted beard and cut
his hair.

“Have you ever shaved a man before?” he
asked.

“I haven’t,” Vivienne admitted, “but Emma
could do it for you.”

“I will, if you’ll let me,” Emma offered.

“No.” It was as firm a refusal as his
continuing weakness allowed. “Having seen the rest of me unclothed
while I’ve been lying here helpless, now you want to see my bare
face, too.”

Vivienne giggled at the remark, but Emma
detected something evasive behind the joking.

“We will do whatever you want, and not tease
you for more,” she told him.

“My old face is too scarred for gently raised
young ladies to view,” Hermit said. “Leave well enough alone.”

“I was not gently raised,” Vivienne reminded
him.

“But you were,” Hermit said, taking her hand.
“You didn’t learn to work fine embroidery, or to pin up your hair
and wear silk gowns or play a lute, but Agatha taught you how to
trust your kind and gentle heart.

“I will make a concession,” Hermit said. “You
may trim my hair and my beard, but I’ll not be shaved.”

“Speaking of fine embroidery,” Emma said,
”Hawise owns a pair of sharp embroidery scissors. I’ll ask her for
an hour’s use of them.” She left the room quickly, not wanting to
stay there while Hermit and Vivienne gazed at each other with their
hearts in their eyes and longing written clear to see on their
faces.

As soon as Dain returned, Emma begged him to
offer Hermit a place at Penruan. Though he again expressed his
doubts about exposing Vivienne to the constant presence of a man
about whose family and past he knew nothing, Dain made the offer,
at a time when Vivienne was resting and Emma was with Hermit.

“It would never do,” Hermit said at once. “I
am grateful to you, Dain, for more reasons than I dare to reveal.
You will never know how much these months I’ve spent on your land
mean to me. But it’s best if I resume my travels as soon as I am
able.”

“Will nothing change your mind?” Emma
cried.

“My heart will always be at Penruan,” Hermit
said. “It’s my mortal body that cannot stay here.”

“Well, that’s that,” Dain said to Emma later.
“Hermit obviously understands he wouldn’t be well matched with
Vivienne. Whatever the circumstances of his birth or his past, he
is a man of honor.”

“You needn’t look so pleased,” Emma retorted.
“Vivienne will be heartbroken when he leaves.”

“I left the choice to Hermit, just as you
wanted,” Dain said.

“So you did,” Emma admitted on a sigh.
Privately, she feared Vivienne’s reaction when she learned Hermit
was planning to depart – and she wondered what were the real
reasons behind Hermit’s decision to forsake the woman whom Emma was
certain he loved.

“Hermit’s belongings are still in the cave,”
Emma said to Dain the next morning. “I thought I’d go there and
gather them up and bring them back to him.”

“I will go with you,” Dain offered.

Emma was a bit surprised at the suggestion,
but there was no excuse she could think of to keep the lord of
Penruan away from a cave that was located on his own land, so she
quickly assented. Perhaps, once they were removed from the castle,
where the demands on his time and attention were constant, Dain
would reveal his thoughts about their marriage. He hadn’t returned
to their bed since learning she could work magic and, though he
treated her with scrupulous courtesy, Emma wasn’t sure she could
continue as his wife if he didn’t soon tell her what was in his
heart.

They walked out of the gatehouse at
midmorning. The day was mild, though a haze hung over the sea,
turning the sunlight to a milky-white glow. The sea was murky gray
and oddly still.

“I am beginning to know the Cornish weather,”
Emma said as she followed Dain along the descent to the beach. “I
recognize the signs of an approaching storm. We will have rain by
midnight.”

“You’ve been paying attention.” Dain stepped
off the path onto the sand and turned to offer Emma a hand.

“That,” she responded, “is half the secret of
working magic. Few people pay attention to what is happening around
them.”

She was slightly above Dain, still on the
path and gazing downward into his upturned face, caught by the
marvelous blue-green depths of his eyes. Her heart lurched within
her and she wondered what she would do if he decided to send her
away. She hoped she was strong enough to live without him, but she
didn’t want to. She wanted to live with him for the rest of their
lives, to lie beside him every night and bear his children and help
him to care for the people who depended on him. She belonged to him
completely, yet for all her magical ability she could not read his
mind or guess at the future he intended for them.

“Perhaps it’s the mystery that tempts me so,”
she murmured.

“What mystery?” he asked.

“Men are such strange creatures,” she said.
Evading his outstretched hand, she jumped onto the sand and began
walking toward the rocks at the far side of the beach.

“Do you think women are not strange?” he
muttered, catching up to her on the damp sand at the edge of the
water. “Emma, despite your claim, you haven’t been paying attention
to the sea. The tide is in, so you’ll get wet if you try to reach
Hermit’s cave.”

“Think nothing of it,” she said, and stepped
into the water and began to walk around the rocks.

“Are you mad?” he exclaimed. “You could be
swept away.”

“Not while the sea is so calm. You see, my
lord, I have been paying attention after all.” She marched out of
the water and up the beach without looking back to see if he was
following her. She was inside the cave before he rejoined her.

“You are too damned independent!” he shouted
at her, “thinking for yourself, making decisions on your own,
choosing what is safe and what is not.”

“Do you want a wife who cannot think?” she
demanded, angry without really understanding why. “I know you wish
you’d married a wife who cannot work magic, and who is not the
daughter of Gavin of Wroxley, but you have me now and must make do
with me, whether you want me or not.”

“Must I?” he asked softly, a cool threat in
his voice.

Frightened now, as well as angry, she spun
away from him and made her way to the inner chamber, where Hermit’s
few belongings lay on the sand in a neat little pile topped by a
folded blanket. The remains of his last fire occupied a shallow pit
he had dug out of the sand. Next to his camp the underground stream
that supplied his water rippled past on its race toward the
sea.

Kneeling, Emma unfolded the blanket and began
to transfer Hermit’s possessions onto it. She tried to keep her
attention on what she was doing and not think about Dain, who
followed her to stand glaring at her as if she had committed some
great sin. She did her best to pretend indifference to him, though
she ached to know he cared about her.

“As for making do with you,” Dain said
suddenly, “at the moment, there is just one thing I want to do with
you.”

Emma paused with Hermit’s leather knapsack in
her hands. Dain knelt across the blanket from her. When he took the
knapsack from her and set it aside she did not protest. A warm
flush began deep within her and spread outward, melting any
resistance she might have offered. Perhaps, just possibly, he did
care. He wasn’t the kind of lord who simply took for the sake of
physical release.

“If I wait until we return to the castle,”
Dain said, “we will be interrupted. Someone will demand a moment of
my time, or of yours, and it will be midnight before we are free of
obligations. I do not want to wait, Emma. I cannot wait. I want you
now.”

“I don’t think Hermit would mind if we use
his blanket,” she said, and shuddered with urgent need when he
reached out to take her face between his hands.

“Proper wives cover their hair,” he said. “I
am glad you do not. Your hair is too beautiful to hide. Oh, Emma,”
he groaned, and without warning pulled her toward him. She fell
against his chest.

“I shall never be a proper wife,” she
whispered, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I know it. Just for an hour, will you be an
obedient wife?”

“I can try. What do you require of me, my
lord?”

“Disrobe,” he commanded. “Here, where no one
will see or intrude upon us, remove your clothes while I
watch.”

“I will, and gladly,” she said, “if you will,
also.”

“That’s not obedience,” he protested.

“No, it’s not.” She left his embrace with
reluctance, to get to her feet and stand smiling at him in an
attempt to disguise the improbable combination of rebellion and
desire that was surging through her. She would – she
must
! –
have him on her terms, as equals, and never would she use magic on
him. She would meet him woman to man with a passion to match his
own. Perhaps then he would understand how much she loved him. “It’s
a matter of cooperation.”

He regarded her for a moment, as if making up
his mind, then leapt to his feet.

“I have never in my life refused a
challenge,” he said.

He unbuckled his belt and laid it and his
sword on the sand. Emma untied her sash and cast it aside.

Dain kicked off his boots. Emma removed her
shoes, unfastened the ribbon garters just below her knees, and with
slow, deliberate movements, rolled down her stockings. The look in
Dain’s eyes as he watched her fingers sliding over calf and ankle
sent exciting chills along her spine.

Dain pulled his tunic over his head. Emma
lifted the damp hem of her skirt and very slowly, with Dain’s
overheated gaze still on her every motion, she removed her
gown.

Dain grinned and began to unfasten his hose.
Emma unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it until it
swung loose over her shoulders.

“Have a care, my lord,” she advised, noting
the hurried way he was fumbling with his undergarments. “It would
be a great pity if you do yourself an injury at so vital a
time.”

He laughed at her remark, then tore off his
last remaining piece of clothing and stood naked and unashamed,
letting her look her fill from his silver-gilt hair to his
twinkling eyes, to his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long,
well-muscled legs and shapely feet. And then back again, upward to
the flaunting, eager evidence of his desire for her.

“If cooperation is truly your intent, my
lady,” Dain said, “remove your shift. For, as you see, I have
cooperated fully with you. I expect no less in return.”

She lifted a trembling hand to push her
wide-necked shift off her shoulders and let it fall. She stepped
out of the circle of crumpled linen and went to him, to stand so
close she could feel his warmth, yet not touching him.