A Passionate Magic (5 page)

“Oh, my lady, do be careful,” Hawise begged.
“What can any woman hope to achieve against a man as hard as Lord
Dain?’

“I shall teach him to trust me and to love
me,” Emma declared with all the assurance of youth and with an
innocence only slightly tarnished by Dain’s recent cool
manipulation of her senses. “Furthermore, I will do it without
using magic. I do believe it’s the only way to assure a permanent
peace between Penruan and Wroxley.”

“
If
you can teach him.” Hawise, who
was three years older than Emma, and a bit more experienced with
men, replaced the cork in the bottle of cowslip water and headed
for the other room to put it away. “If Lord Dain owns a heart that
is capable of love. From what I’ve seen of him, I sadly doubt
it.”

In Dain’s absence Emma made a point of
walking on the battlements each afternoon. She saw the activity as
asserting herself, even though Dain had granted his grudging
permission. It wasn’t a very pleasant form of exercise. The steady
drizzle went on for days, making the stone walkways slippery. Emma
could see little of the castle surroundings because of the rain and
the fog that drifted in from the sea. When she leaned over the
parapet she couldn’t even see the rocks below the castle, although
she could hear the waves crashing on them. Let Hawise mutter about
the cold and damp, and the quaking ague that was sure to make both
of them permanently ill; still Emma persisted in taking her daily
walk. She repeatedly pointed out to her companion that, as both of
them soon learned, walking was one of the few things she was
allowed to do.

Though Emma vowed she was not going to defy
the rules laid down for her by her husband, she did intend to
stretch those rules as far as she could. She began by attempting to
change the daily menu, only to discover the cook would not alter
one single detail. She was polite to Emma but adamant.

“Before she left Penruan, Lady Richenda
decided on all of the menus for each day of her absence,” the cook
explained. “We dare not vary any meal.”

“What if someone brings in unexpected game or
fish?” Emma asked. “Surely, you don’t waste such largesse.”

“Lady Richenda has made provision for that
event,” the cook said, exuding patience toward a newcomer who
obviously did not understand the way Penruan was run. “Truly, my
lady Emma, you need not concern yourself with the meals. Lady
Richenda has everything perfectly organized.”

Emma was wise enough not to insist to a
servant whose loyalties lay elsewhere that
she
was now the
lady of the castle and, therefore, the orders of the present
baron’s wife ought to take precedence over those of the baron’s
widowed mother. She decided to wait until Dain returned and speak
to him about who was to be chatelaine of Penruan.

Bored by idleness and eager to use the skills
she had spent years perfecting, Emma next moved on to
housecleaning, to the laundry, to storage and maintenance of the
household linens, to sewing, spinning, weaving. Everywhere she
turned her efforts were balked by servants who very politely but
very firmly informed her that her help was not needed or wanted.
Lady Richenda had everything well in hand. Emma was expected to do
nothing but rest from her difficult journey to Penruan while she
awaited the return of Lord Dain.

She complained to Sir Sloan. He, adhering
strictly to the orders given him by Dain, with great politeness
pointed out to Emma what she already knew: that the domestic
affairs of a castle were not within the provenance of the captain
of the guard. Lady Richenda had been undisputed mistress of the
castle since the day she had arrived there as a bride more than
thirty years earlier. If Emma wanted to change that arrangement,
she would have to speak to Dain.

“I almost wish someone would be rude to me,
so I could have an excuse to stand and fight,” she said to Father
Maynard. The early morning service was just completed and the
castle folk who had attended were leaving the chapel to take up
their daily work. Emma watched them go with envious eyes. “I shall
run mad if I cannot discover something to occupy my mind. At
Wroxley I was always busy, always needed, but here I feel useless.
And unwanted,” she added in a moment of self-pity. So disturbed
that she could not remain still, she began to walk up and down,
covering the space between chapel door and altar steps in a few
rapid strides, then turning to retrace her path.

“You must understand that your position here
is somewhat unusual,” Father Maynard said.

“I do understand it; I just wish others
would.” She was instantly contrite for having snapped at him. “I am
sorry, Father. You see in me an example of how idleness leads to
ill-temper, and to feeling sorry for oneself. I cannot ride or even
take a long walk, for I am forbidden to step outside the castle
walls. And I am forbidden to
do
anything within these walls!
It is unjust of Dain to treat me so.”

“Perhaps, but it is also understandable. Dain
wants to keep you safe and, until the outlaws are caught and
punished, you are safest here, inside.” Father Maynard watched her
agitated pacing for a few moments more before he asked, “Have you
visited the stillroom?”

“Of course not. I did ask about the room,
only to be told it is kept locked, at Lady Richenda’s orders. In
the absence of Lady Richenda, the cook has the key, but she refuses
to give it to me without a direct command from either Dain or his
mother.” Emma passed Father Maynard for the fifth time and would
have continued striding restlessly between door and altar if he had
not stopped her by putting a hand on her arm.

“My child, be still for a moment. Collect
your thoughts, which are obviously scattered, and try to think
reasonably.

“I was at Wroxley Castle for two weeks,”
Father Maynard said. “During that time I observed how you were
given responsibilities beyond those of most unmarried girls.”

“My father and my stepmother trusted me,’
Emma said, “and rightly so.”

“As I recall, your special responsibility was
in the stillroom, where you compounded medicines,” Father Maynard
said.

“That’s true.” Emma regarded him with
interest. Of course he had been watching her while he was at
Wroxley. Dain had most likely required a report from him on his
return to Penruan. Father Maynard had been clever enough to conceal
what he was doing, and Emma had not thought to hide her daily
sessions with Mirielle, during which she practiced magical spells.
More important than any spell casting were Mirielle’s instructions
in how to control her magical abilities. Thanks to Mirielle’s
gentle explanations over the years, Emma knew about her mother’s
evil activities in the past, activities that had almost destroyed
Wroxley and its inhabitants, and she was determined to avoid Alda’s
fate of being consumed by a magic she could no longer contain. Emma
wondered how much Father Maynard had learned, or how much he
guessed, about her own inborn magic.

“I am skilled at making medicines from
herbs,” she said to the priest, and braced herself for an
interrogation.

To her relief Father Maynard asked no
questions about her medicines. Perhaps, like the resident priest at
Wroxley, he preferred not to know what she could do with herbs or
with her spells, so he could with a clear conscience live side by
side with an ancient tradition that in its own way brought as much
comfort to people’s bodies as Father Maynard’s religion did to
their souls.

“Even when Lady Richenda is here, the
stillroom is seldom used,” Father Maynard said, “which is too bad,
especially during the late winter, when people often fall ill.”

“They are sick because there isn’t much fresh
food left by late winter, except for cabbages and parsnips and a
few other roots,” Emma said, “though certain herbs can help the
situation. Also, I am sure the men-at-arms develop serious coughs
and running noses from standing long hours of sentry duty upon the
walls in damp and windy weather.”

“Perhaps during the coming winter your
medicines will be of help to those poor men-at-arms,” Father
Maynard suggested.

“There are medicines I could make,” Emma
said, “but only if the fresh herbs are available to me now, in the
summer season. Other herbs ought to be dried before winter comes,
so I will have them to use later. There is only a small herb garden
here at Penruan, and the cook tells me that she uses most of what
it supplies. If only I could go outside the castle, I could search
for fresh herbs and even dig up a few plants to bring back and put
into the garden. It’s not too late in the year for
transplanting.”

“Now, there is a useful work to keep you
busy,” said Father Maynard.

“I am sure if I suggest it, I will be
prevented by some unbreakable rule Lady Richenda has laid down
about the uses of herbs, or about entrance to the stillroom,” Emma
exclaimed in exasperation. “Everything I try to do is stopped
before I can begin.”

“I do think,” said Father Maynard, “that you
are a resourceful young woman.” His smile held a wealth of unspoken
meaning.

“What are you suggesting?” Emma asked. She
was not sure she was reading him correctly. She did not, after all,
know him very well, and if the actions she was suddenly
contemplating should prove to be a mistake, the consequences could
be devastating to her future with Dain. Emma sighed, wishing for
just a moment that her life had taken a simpler path. But if there
were no feud, if she had married an ordinary nobleman, she would
not know Dain. And that was a painful thought.

“Why, my child, I suggest nothing,” said
Father Maynard, looking remarkably innocent for a man who had for
years been listening to the confessions of men-at-arms, “though I
do suppose that before you can begin your herbal work you will have
to get into the stillroom and make an inventory.”

“How am I to do that, except by stealing the
key from the cook?” Emma demanded.

“’Thou shalt not steal,’” said Father
Maynard, straight-faced and serious. “The commandment is
explicit.”

“Ah.” Emma broke into a grin as the certainty
of his meaning dawned on her. “No, Father, I won’t steal. I shall
borrow, and later I shall return, the key.”

“It’s best if you say no more to me,” Father
Maynard warned.

“What a clever man you are. What a good and
kind friend to me.” Emma was tempted to kiss him on his stubbly
cheek, but she feared he might take the gesture amiss, and so she
restrained her bursting enthusiasm. All the way back to the lord’s
chamber she considered the problem of how to obtain the key to the
stillroom.

She found Hawise just finishing with the new
bed hangings. Bright blue wool with borders embroidered in red and
green now replaced the old, threadbare brown hangings, and the
green quilt added an extra note of color.

The shutters were open to provide light for
Hawise’s work, and a gray, misty sky could be seen through the long
twin windows. The chamber was a bit cool, but it smelled lovely
from the dried lavender flowers and rosemary leaves that Emma kept
in small bowls to freshen the air.

“How nice the bed looks,” Emma said, smiling
at Hawise.

“Now we have only the chair to assemble and
the room will be remade to your liking.” Hawise nodded toward a
pile of boards that were cut into precise lengths, each length well
sanded and oiled. “We will need a third person, but Sir Sloan
claims that all of his men are too busy to assist us.”

“We could ask Blake,” Emma said,
thoughtfully.

She was still mulling over the question of
how to get her hands on the stillroom key, and an idea was forming
in her mind.

“The page?” Hawise asked. “He’s only a boy,
not more than eleven or twelve, and slender for his age. Will he be
strong enough for this job?”

“The carpenter at Wroxley showed me how the
chair is to be put together,” Emma said. “It only needs two pair of
hands to hold the pieces in place while a third person drives the
pegs into the slots to keep the pieces together. See if you can
find Blake.”

While Hawise was gone Emma laid the various
pieces of wood out on the floor in order, so they were ready to be
assembled. At the same time she assembled her thoughts, working out
how to approach Blake, and how to accomplish her goal of making the
stillroom her own place. She thought Blake’s cooperation would be
easy enough to obtain. Dain’s consent was going to be more
difficult. Still, she had to try. She simply could not spend many
more days in enforced idleness.

When Blake came into the room with Hawise,
Emma rose from her kneeling posture to face him with a friendly
smile and a pleasant greeting.

“You really know how to do this?” Blake
exclaimed in undisguised disbelief after she explained to him how
they were going to assemble the chair. ”A lady who understands
carpentry?”

“Just do as I have asked and you will have
proof of my claim,” Emma told him.

“I knew you were going to be more fun than
Lady Richenda!” Blake eagerly reached for the first piece of
wood.

Under Emma’s instruction, Hawise and Blake
fitted the sections together and then held them in place while Emma
drove in the pegs with the small mallet provided by the carpenter.
It didn’t take long to finish the chair. Blake claimed the right to
be first to sit in it.

“If you ever want to move it or store it, you
only have to knock the pegs out again,” Blake noted. He ran his
hands over the smooth arms, letting his fingertips rest on the
nearest peg.

“Yes,” Emma said, “which is why Hawise will
now store the mallet in one of my boxes, in case we need it again.
And in another box she will find the cushions for the chair seat
and back.” She handed the mallet to Hawise with a tilt of her head
that told her companion to go into the adjoining chamber and stay
there until she was summoned.